a I B RAHY 
 
 OF THE 
 UN IVLRSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 W5873r 
 v. I
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/rosedouglasorske01whit
 
 / 
 ROSE DOUGLAS; 
 
 SKETCHES OF A COUNTRY PAEISH 
 
 BEING THE 
 
 ^utobi0{)raj)l)t) of a Scotcl) ^mister's paugljter. 
 
 BY 
 
 S. R. W. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER, AND CO., 65 CORNHILL. 
 
 1851.
 
 8£3 
 
 v.i 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 While reading lately the preface to a work by a 
 highly esteemed and popular author of my own coun- 
 try, I lighted upon the following passage : " He who 
 dedicates, more than expresses his gratitude. By his 
 choice of a patron, he intimates also, as if by speci- 
 men, the class which he would fain select as his 
 readers ; or, as I should perhaps rather express myself, 
 he specifies the peculiar cast of intellect and range of 
 acquirement from which he anticipates the justest 
 appreciation of his labours, and the deepest interest in 
 the subject of them." 
 
 I need say nothing more. This little Work is 
 dedicated to the " Ministers' Daughters" of Scotland, 
 by their affectionate Sister, 
 
 A Minister's Daughter.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In sending forth to the world this u Autobiography 
 of a Minister's Daughter/' it may be needful to 
 state, that the early portion was written many years 
 ago, when the life therein described was fresh and 
 familiar to my mind. It was thrown aside for a long 
 time; but, by the advice of a kind and judicious 
 friend, I subsequently resumed my narrative, and it 
 was nearly completed when a recent and popular work, 
 11 The Life of Mrs Margaret Maitland of Sunny side," 
 appeared. 
 
 I hesitated to intrude upon ground which might 
 thus seem to be pre-occupied, and that so worthily. 
 But these scruples were overruled by more competent 
 judges of such matters than myself. I was reminded 
 that there is no essential similarity between the stories 
 — that any apparent resemblance is rather in some 
 exterior relations than in the incidents delineated, or
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 in the general current of the thoughts ; and I am em- 
 boldened to hope, that my plain unpretending nar- 
 rative may not be unacceptable to the class of readers 
 to whom such "simple annals" possess an interest. 
 Whatever character may be assigned to this work by 
 a discerning public, it is at least drawn from no other 
 source than my own experience and observation. 
 
 S. R. W. 
 
 Edinburgh, February 1851.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PAEISH. 
 
 A wild and silent tract in truth it was, 
 
 With heathy moorland stretching far and wide 
 
 To meet the purple hills. But 'mong those lay 
 
 Some green and sheltered dells, with woods and streams, 
 
 Where dwelt a simple race — our Home was there. 
 
 I WAS an only child. My father was a clergyman, or 
 as it is designated in this country, a minister of the 
 Church of Scotland. 
 
 The parish over which he exercised his pastoral 
 care is situated in the upper district of Lanarkshire. 
 The scenery is somewhat wild and moorland. The 
 close neighbourhood of the hills, however, redeems 
 the waste from the sameness which generally attends 
 such landscapes ; and though bare, it is not monoton- 
 ous. One portion of the parish possesses a good soil, 
 and is finely wooded ; but, upon the whole, black moss 
 and purple heath are the characteristics of the district, 
 and the population is somewhat scanty and scattered.
 
 8 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 It was principally composed, at the period of which 
 I write, of small farmers and their labourers y men who 
 in general were born on the same soil which their 
 fathers had cultivated, and whose habits of life were 
 frugal and simple. 
 
 The dwellings, or steadings (as they were called), 
 of the farmers, were mostly situated at considerable 
 distances from each other ; some of them in very lonely 
 situations ; but their inhabitants were accustomed to 
 the solitude, and were sufficiently interested in their 
 own pursuits. 
 
 The rest of the population, which consisted of la- 
 bourers and a few weavers and other artisans (some 
 of whom held small feus, and were deservedly con- 
 sidered a respectable class), was contained in the 
 various small villages scattered among the moors. 
 The habitations which formed these little groups were 
 hardly to be discerned from the waste on which they 
 were situated. Low, rude, and irregularly clustered 
 together, scarcely differing in colour, and not much in 
 height, from the broken soil around them, by the eye 
 of a stranger they might almost have been overlooked. 
 A small patch of cultivated land, redeemed from the 
 moss, generally lay to the front or rear of these cot- 
 tages, on which the inhabitants raised (almost pro- 
 miscuously) oats, potatoes, and green kail. Wretch- 
 ed as these dwellings were in outward appearance, 
 they often possessed much homely comfort in their 
 interior arrangements. There were the warm and 
 kindly peat fire, around which in the evenings the
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 9 
 
 whole family usually assembled, the well-arranged 
 bink) and the comer aumrie, whose open door afforded 
 the stranger a glimpse of various articles of old-fa- 
 shioned china and crystal. One thing was never mis- 
 sing in the apartment, a spinning-wheel, the " gude- 
 wife's" pride and solace, and which itself spoke of 
 industry and comfort. 
 
 The inhabitants of these cottages resembled their 
 dwellings. Although rude in their external appearance 
 and habits, they were industrious and honest, and pos- 
 sessed of much shrewdness and sagacity. Few of them 
 could be called illiterate ; many of them had read much, 
 though the works they perused were all of one class. 
 Controversial writings on religious subjects were the 
 favourites amongst them — a few songs and ballads 
 formed the only variety. Still their knowledge was 
 derived from the pulpit as much as from authors. 
 
 Weary and toilwom though the hard-wrought cot- 
 tar might be, his evenings were often devoted to study. 
 Seated in his own chair by the fire, and surrounded 
 by his family silently plying their tasks, he would 
 occasionally read aloud for their benefit, making of 
 course his own comments as he proceeded, what appeared 
 to him to be striking and appropriate passages from 
 some work, the composition perhaps of one of Scotland's 
 old but able divines. At such times he was generally 
 listened to with quiet and even devout attention ; the 
 children were hushed, and indeed were fully aware of 
 the consequences that would follow the interruption of 
 such an employment. The farmers and cottars'
 
 10 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 hearths were thus often the scenes of much piety and 
 scriptural knowledge. Many of these men were de- 
 scended from some of Scotland's martyred champions 
 in the cause of truth. Such lineage was their glory 
 and boast ; and was perhaps a means of keeping awake 
 that spirit of inquiry, and that noble enthusiasm which 
 once animated thousands, and adorned our annals 
 with martyrs. 
 
 On the Sabbath, however, the cottager appeared to 
 the greatest advantage. Arrayed in his best and well- 
 preserved suit, and accompanied by his family in the 
 decent and sober garments becoming their station, he 
 was to be seen in his place in the humble church, 
 listening to his pastor with not only the eagerness and 
 devotion of a Christian thirsting for instruction, but 
 with the ability and acuteness of an able though 
 homely critic. In the evening he carefully catechised 
 his family, without exception, and then concluded 
 with solemn devotional exercises. Such, O Scot- 
 land, were once thy peculiar children. Such, I trust, 
 are many still, though the seeds of indifference and 
 unbelief are now thickly sown even over thy purple 
 hills, and among thy secluded valleys. Still, though 
 the beauty of thy national character seems fading away 
 for ever, there will surely in some of thy solitary glens, 
 and in the lonelier recesses of thy mountains, be left 
 a remnant, who, with the primitive tastes and habits 
 of their fathers, will still unite in loving and reverencing 
 that faith for which these fought and died, sealing 
 their testimony with their blood !
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 11 
 
 The parish of Auchtermuir is situated at the dis- 
 tance of several miles from the county town ; and as 
 no great road lay in our direction, we led a very re- 
 tired life. 
 
 There were indeed several families, not exactly in 
 our immediate neighbourhood, but within walking 
 distance. Nothing, however, like daily or even weekly 
 intercourse took place between us. The ease and con- 
 stant movements of modern society would have been 
 felt by them, not only as wrong, but irksome, requir- 
 ing hourly attention to dress, and breaking in upon all 
 habits of order and frugality. In their eyes they would 
 have been associated with idleness and vice. Formal 
 calls were therefore only exchanged once or twice in 
 the year, and occasional tea-drinkings brought us to- 
 gether ; each family, unless visited by sickness, making 
 it a point to assemble their neighbours once, and at 
 most twice, every year. 
 
 There were the surgeon and his wife. They were 
 our most distant neighbours, with the exception of an 
 old widow lady, who, with only one servant, lived in 
 a very solitary house near the hills. There was the 
 schoolmaster's family. There were three elderly 
 maiden ladies who rented an old-fashioned mansion- 
 house, a mile and a half from us, on the road to the 
 town ; and a writer to the signet's family from Edin- 
 burgh, consisting of father and son, two young ladies 
 and their former governess. This last family only lived 
 among us during the summer months, and were very 
 proud, very stiff in their manners, and somewhat dis-
 
 12 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 agreeable. These were the only families within visit- 
 ing distance. A few lairds (in England they would 
 be called small proprietors) there were around us, 
 most of whom were unmarried, and led pretty hard 
 rough lives. We occasionally met them at some of 
 the tea-drinkings I have mentioned. 
 
 The principal proprietor and patron of the parish 
 seldom visited his mansion-house. Indeed we knew 
 but little of him. Report described him as an old 
 man of very retired habits and peculiar tastes, — some- 
 thing of a misanthrope. He was a baronet of old 
 descent, and possessed a large estate in Ross-shire in 
 addition to his property with us. His family, which 
 consisted of an only son and three daughters, never 
 honoured our neighbourhood by a visit, and a few old 
 servants were only to be found year after year at the 
 house. 
 
 It was a fine old place ; half ruinous indeed from 
 neglect, and not imposing in extent, but striking and 
 picturesque. It stood almost buried in wood, a short 
 distance from the manse. The interior was gloomy 
 and inconvenient, and but scantily furnished. Long 
 cold stone passages, rooms in ranges, to which you 
 ascended or descended by short flights of steps, creak- 
 ing stairs which betrayed every footstep, and a kitchen 
 fireplace which might have held half the population 
 of the parish on its benches, claimed at least respect for 
 their antiquity. 
 
 On one side of the house, and extending partly 
 along the back, lay the old-fashioned garden, inter-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 13 
 
 sected with formal walks and gigantic hedges. The 
 walks were mostly grass-grown, and the hedges had 
 overshot all limits. Every thing within or without 
 the building wore an air of neglect, or, as a stranger 
 would have supposed, poverty. The house, as I have 
 said, was closely surrounded by thick woods, which 
 Sir Kobert did not neglect, as they were periodically 
 thinned — he knew the value of timber. In short, it 
 was just such a mansion as may be seen in the pre- 
 sent day in almost any part of Scotland, where want 
 of society, or want of means, induces the owner to 
 leave his dwelling to comparative decay. 
 
 From my childhood upwards, I enjoyed free access 
 to the house and grounds, which latter were not ex- 
 tensive. The old housekeeper was a regular attendant 
 upon my father's ministry, and my greatest pleasure, 
 even when a child, was to wander with her through 
 the dreary passages, whose narrow windows were ob- 
 scured by ivy, and among the desolate apartments. 
 The fading portraits on the walls were objects of pe- 
 culiar interest to me, as representing the heroes of the 
 many legends with which my companion regaled my 
 ears. To each belonged a separate history and charm. 
 They were the waking dreams of my childhood. The 
 echoes of that venerable mansion are still sounding in 
 my ears, and recalling images of bygone days. They 
 are melancholy as the knell of departed friends, for 
 they speak of joys that return no more. 
 
 The house, I have said, stood but a short distance 
 from the manse. Its woods sheltered us on one side.
 
 14 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 The road swept past its ancient and massive gateway, 
 formed by an arch, and surmounted by a greyhound 
 couchant, to our dwelling. The manse lay in a nook 
 occasioned by a sudden sweep of the river. The road 
 terminated with us, so that we were truly most retired 
 and sequestered — not lonely, we never felt it so. With 
 the exception of those who came purposely to visit us, 
 or a few boys on occasional bird-nesting expeditions, 
 we saw no creature save on Sabbaths. 
 
 The manse of Auchtermuir and its little church 
 were situated, as was the old custom, close by each 
 other. They were upwards of a mile from the nearest 
 village. All manses of ancient date seem to have 
 been built on the same plan. My father's was small, 
 but unlike most, it was compact and comfortable. It 
 contained few rooms, but our family was not a large 
 one. It was a pleasant dwelling, so quiet and solitary. 
 A rustic gate opened on a short entrance-road, bor- 
 dered on one side by lilac trees and a hedge of sweet- 
 briar, and on the other by a line of noble beeches, 
 which made it a very shady, sweet lounging-place in 
 summer. There was a stripe of ground strewn with 
 gravel, wide enough to turn a carriage, in front of the 
 house, and beyond this was a piece of turf kept always 
 beautifully smooth, surrounded with a border of flowers 
 which was under my particular care, and was called 
 by the servants, " Miss Rose's garden." Two pear 
 trees, famous through the parish for their fruit, for my 
 father understood gardening, covered the front walls, 
 and the little porch which sheltered the door was gay
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 15 
 
 with honeysuckle and the small twining rose. What 
 a bloom and beauty were there in the beginning of 
 summer, just as the sweet spring was leaving us! 
 What a flush of blossoms on the pear trees, like new- 
 fallen snow, almost concealing the small windows of 
 the old-fashioned house ! What bunches of lilac, large 
 as a child's head, along the whole pathway ! What 
 auriculas and polyanthuses, and what a sweetness and 
 fragrance blended from the whole ! Oh ! it was a 
 sweet spot ! 
 
 Behind the house lay the garden. It was of toler- 
 able extent, and surrounded by a double hedge of 
 great height and thickness, kept always carefully 
 trimmed. An opening in it on one side, secured by a 
 little gate, led into that part of the glebe which was 
 usually kept in pasture for the cow. The garden was 
 principally devoted to vegetables and fruit, the latter 
 of which we sold, sometimes to great advantage, to a 
 person in the neighbouring town, who supplied the 
 Glasgow markets. My father's stipend was small, 
 but a good fruit-year added considerably to our in- 
 come. We had a few flower-beds under the windows, 
 which my father personally superintended, as the trees 
 and vegetables, in addition to his other employments, 
 required all our servant's attention. 
 
 Opposite to the manse was the parish burying- 
 ground, in the midst of which stood the little simple 
 church. It was built in the form of a cross, and was 
 very rude and ancient. On its outer walls were 
 several monuments, old, defaced, and principally be-
 
 16 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 longing to the great family of the neighbourhood. 
 The churchyard was visible from our upper windows, 
 but the thickness of the shrubs and trees concealed it 
 from our sitting rooms, which were on the ground 
 floor. A low and ivy-covered wall was the only separa- 
 tion between it and our small shrubbery. My little 
 bedroom looked full upon it, through an opening in 
 the trees, and I remember in my young days, before 
 I knew what real sorrow was, how sad and yet how 
 strangely pleasing it was to stand in the window, and 
 gaze upon the shadows made by the church walls, and 
 on the moonlight sleeping quietly on the surrounding 
 graves. It was a peaceful and a lovely scene, and I 
 was a dreaming girl then, but I have often since 
 thought (though it is a foolish fancy to mention) that 
 I could sleep the long last sleep happier there than in 
 any other spot. 
 
 How habit can reconcile one to things ! To any one 
 unaccustomed to such a situation, the near neighbour- 
 hood of a burial-ground, and especially in the times 
 of which I write (for I am an old woman, my friends), 
 would have been disagreeable and repugnant. I did 
 not feel it so. I had been habituated from my child- 
 hood to look upon it, nay, even to love it ; for in the 
 bright calm evenings of summer, my father would 
 often lead me to my mother's grave, and there tell me 
 such tales of her goodness and worth, and of that 
 happy and glorious land to which she had fled, that 
 my soul, child as I was, was filled with tenderness 
 and wonder. To me, therefore, it was associated with
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 17 
 
 beautiful hopes and yearning affections, unsullied save 
 by the sadness which clouded my father's brow when 
 we visited it ; and its vicinity awakened no supersti- 
 tious feelings. 
 
 In my early days, the traces of those gloomy 
 superstitions, which had their origin in remote and 
 barbarous ages, had not yet vanished before the in- 
 creasing light of instruction and civilisation. In so 
 retired a district as ours, they were almost in primi- 
 tive force. The churchyard was an object of peculiar 
 dread ; and even the close proximity of the manse 
 was scarcely felt a sufficient protection by the be- 
 nighted rustic, whose evil fate led him near to its 
 precincts. 
 
 I have remarked that the river swept near us, not 
 so broad and majestic, of course, as it appears farther 
 down the valley, but still a considerable stream. It 
 was almost concealed from our sight by the trees, but 
 we caught glimpses of it winding away in the dis- 
 tance, with its green banks sloping to the water's 
 edge. And many a patient angler have I watched 
 from the opposite side, a whole summer's noon, dip- 
 ping his line into the water, and sometimes gazing 
 curiously at our little paradise, as if he coveted such 
 a resting-place 
 
 vol. 1.
 
 18 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A COUNTRY CLERGYMAN — MY CHILDHOOD AND 
 EDUCATION. 
 
 My father was the pastor then, 
 A man of meek and simple grace : 
 There was no eye in strath or glen 
 That did not love to see his face. 
 My sisters, and we brothers three, 
 He taught to tread the path he trod ; 
 But, ah ! no soother now had he, 
 My mother was with God. 
 
 My father had obtained his living through patronage ; 
 but his people truly loved and esteemed him. Pre- 
 vious to his presentation , he had been tutor in a family 
 nearly connected with Sir Robert Crawford, the patron 
 of Auchtermuir. There was a young lady in the house 
 who was a poor relation. An attachment having been 
 discovered between the quiet thoughtful tutor and the 
 gentle girl, whose position was so like his own, except 
 that she received no salary, a family council was held, 
 when it was finally resolved that Sir Robert, then a 
 dashing young man of eight-and-twenty, should be 
 petitioned to present Mr Douglas to the living of 
 Auchtermuir, which happened fortunately to be then
 
 EOSE DOUGLAS. 19 
 
 vacant. As Sir Robert graciously inclined his ear, 
 the matter was soon arranged. Glad to get rid of my 
 mother, whose maintenance they felt a burden, all 
 preliminaries were quickly despatched ; the marriage 
 took place in the presence of the family, and the bride, 
 dismissed with as few presents as decency warranted, 
 followed her husband to her new home as to an earthly 
 paradise. 
 
 There they arranged their plans. Loving one an- 
 other, anxious to perform the duties of the situation 
 in which God had placed them, tremblingly alive as 
 both were to its calls and responsibilities, they set 
 themselves down with much prayer and humility to 
 the execution of the task. Thus they lived for some 
 years. Attachment soon sprang up between the mini- 
 ster and his flock. They saw he was in earnest, and 
 valued him accordingly. She helped him as only 
 a pious and loving woman can do, and, but for one 
 thing, they might have been too happy. Child after 
 child had been born, and then suddenly removed from 
 them. My mother's constitution was delicate. Her 
 children, till I was born, never survived their infancy : 
 it was the only saddening circumstance connected with 
 their union. The utmost care could not prolong the 
 existence of the infants beyond a few weeks. At last 
 I was born. My mother seemed to recover better than 
 she had ever formerly done ; and the midwife, who 
 had attended her during all her confinements, cast a 
 gleam of hope on the parents' hearts by unequivocally 
 declaring me a healthy child, and likely to survive.
 
 L } ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 Alas ! my life was purchased at the price of that sweet 
 mother's. A week after my birth, she began to droop, 
 and within six weeks, a rapid consumption separ- 
 ated her from her sorrowing husband and the infant 
 who had been given to their prayers. She died 
 " strong in faith," comforting her husband, and leav- 
 ing her blessing for their child. 
 
 Her death had a great effect upon my father's spirits. 
 He was naturally quiet and reserved, and he now 
 seemed to shrink from any society into which duty 
 did not call him. He was submissive. His head was 
 bowed meekly to the stroke, but he drooped under it. 
 It was sanctified to him, but there was not an hour of 
 the day in which he did not miss her. She had been 
 his helper in every good work, his soother in all trials, 
 his constant, zealous, and most affectionate companion. 
 She was the spirit of his home, the wife of his youth. 
 Ah ! poor father, how desolate he was ! 
 
 It was long, of course, before I could fill even in a 
 small degree the place of her he had lost. Uncon- 
 scious child! ignorant of what my birth had cost, 
 I rapidly throve under a healthy country nurse. 
 From the first, though rather a small infant, I was 
 lively and vigorous. My father's anxious eye, con- 
 stantly as it watched me, could detect no symptom of 
 that decay which had formerly proved so fatal. God, 
 who had seen good to remove the desire of his eyes, 
 seemed mercifully purposing to console him by sparing 
 this little one. 
 
 I was carried several times every day into the par-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 21 
 
 lour by my nurse to be exhibited, dressed with a little 
 black ribbon on my tiny cap in memory of my mother ; 
 and when I grew older, and essayed to use my limbs, 
 I was often left for a time by his desire to crawl on 
 the carpet beside him. I soon learnt to love, and to 
 wish to be with him. I can almost fancy, though 
 my age at the time makes it doubtful, that I have a 
 remembrance of the wistful look of his face as he 
 watched my childish movements through the room. 
 I was named Eose after my mother, and fortunately I 
 resembled her. Years wore on, while each added to 
 my strength and growth, and my father's anxious 
 looks gradually softened down. His cheerfulness 
 increased, and his health, which had somewhat 
 drooped, revived also. I was seldom long absent from 
 him. But, while he reared me with the utmost ten- 
 derness, I was early trained to obedience. If I ob- 
 tained leave to be with him in his study, I must take 
 my doll and remain quiet, otherwise I was gently dis- 
 missed. I followed him all about the garden and 
 fields, sometimes even into the nearest cottages, where 
 the " motherless bairn" was always kindly welcomed. 
 I was the pet of the house. The two servant- 
 girls spoiled me, and let me do just as I liked. The 
 old man-servant, who had been with my father since 
 he came to the parish, was as tender as the rest. 
 He liked me to toddle about the garden after him, 
 gave me daily rides in his wheelbarrow, and often 
 kept red-cheeked apples in his pocket for me. Honest 
 old John ! liow well do I remember that half quizzical
 
 22 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 face, red as one of his own apples, and furrowed by 
 approaching age, — that clear shrewd eye, that was half 
 hidden beneath his shaggy eyebrows, twinkling at 
 times with such sly covert humour, especially when 
 addressing " women-folks." Then his dress — the 
 coarse blue coat, with its large metal buttons, — the 
 corduroy shorts, and the thick woollen stockings meet- 
 ing them at the knee, — the blue bonnet with its red 
 tag surmounting all. I was his plaything, his com- 
 panion ;' and many an hour, when the rest of the 
 household were engaged, was I committed to his 
 care. He dearly loved flowers, and taught me to love 
 them too. Nothing but beauty and order ever met 
 my eyes, except in some of the poor cottages which I 
 occasionally entered. My father's tastes were simple 
 and refined, and he sought to cultivate mine accord- 
 ingly. The presence of beauty must refine those in 
 constant contact with it, and every year developed my 
 sense of the beautiful, — a source of exquisite gratifica- 
 tion where it exists. It may be carried, however, into 
 an extreme, unfitting one for the rough and ugly 
 realities which attend life. It is unfortunate when it 
 is so. 
 
 Till I was ten years old, I received no lessons ex- 
 cept from my father. How beautiful and impressive 
 they were ! In early childhood his knee was always 
 my seat, while he poured into my ear the simple and 
 sublime precepts of the Scriptures ; and when I grew 
 older, a stool at his feet was always my morning and 
 evening position.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 23 
 
 The scene is still before me, — the little parlour with 
 its neat but simple furniture ; the old oaken cabinet, 
 with its strange fantastic carving, that used to puzzle 
 my childish imagination ; the bright and glowing- 
 hearth ; and especially tlje ancient leather-covered 
 chair, in which my father always sat ; the light from 
 the candles which stood on a little table near him, 
 gleaming on his pale and thoughtful brow, and gentle 
 yet melancholy features. Oh ! how often does that 
 scene return to me, till I can almost believe that 
 I hear the clear low voice of other years repeat, as 
 I sit again in childhood at his feet, some solemn 
 and interesting passage of biblical history, or call on 
 the God he served to bless and protect his motherless 
 child. In after-days, w T hen fate had removed me far 
 from my early home and all 1 loved, how often have 
 these tones come to me like a voice in the wild desert, 
 whispering peace and consolation. 
 
 There being, of course, no proper school near us, 
 my father, when I had reached my tenth year, was 
 somewhat puzzled what to do with me. In whatever 
 was mental, I had certainly no need of any other in- 
 structor, as he himself was eminently qualified for the 
 office. But there were other acquirements indispens- 
 able to one of my sex and station. My father would 
 have been exposed to much anxiety on my account, as 
 neither his limited income nor his tenderness permitted 
 him to entertain the idea of sending me to any dis- 
 tant seminary, if my kind friend the housekeeper at the 
 Craiglands (Sir Eobert Crawford's place) had not come
 
 24 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 forward and offered her services in training me to all 
 those important and housewifely duties, which it was 
 necessary for me to learn. 
 
 There was great kindness in this offer of Mrs John- 
 stone's, which I need not say was gratefully accepted. 
 But my visits to the old house were already so fre- 
 quent, and my prattle so amusing to the old woman, 
 who was one of those to whom children, as if by in- 
 stinct, attach themselves, that my company had be- 
 come almost necessary to her. The house, too, was 
 very lonely, especially in winter. I possessed another 
 recommendation in her eyes — I was a motherless 
 child. She was quite competent to teach me all that 
 it was really necessary I should know. She was a 
 mistress of needlework, and enjoyed great reputation 
 among her neighbours for the skill with which she 
 made preserves and nourishing broths and jellies for 
 the sick. 
 
 I now spent the greater part of every forenoon at 
 the Craiglands. My arrival generally found the old 
 housekeeper in a small matted apartment, near the 
 kitchen, which was devoted to her peculiar use. " It 
 was warm," she said, " and suited her rheumatism." 
 There would she be sitting, if it was summer, in the 
 deep embrasure of an old-fashioned window, in her 
 own high-backed chair, for she loved no new inven- 
 tions, with her knitting on her lap, her large Bible 
 open upon a little table beside her, and her green 
 spectacle-case as a mark between the leaves. Thus 
 would she sit, while the breeze rustled among the ivy
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 25 
 
 which overhung her window, scarcely, however, dis- 
 turbing Puss, who, nearly as reverend - looking as 
 her mistress, lay on the sill, basking drowsily in the 
 sunshine, and dreaming doubtless of past joys and 
 ancient captives. In winter, the scene was only so 
 far changed, that the good dame's seat was removed 
 from the window to the hearth : in all other respects 
 it was the same. 
 
 How I loved that good old woman ! And she in- 
 deed repaid my affection with the care and tenderness 
 of a mother. She knitted me warm woollen stockings 
 for winter. She herself prepared all my under-cloth- 
 ing, and kept it in proper order. The most tempting 
 sweetmeats, made by her own skilful hands, were 
 her daily gift ; and no doubt, till I was of an age to 
 take a deep interest in the wild tales and traditionary 
 lore, of which she possessed an uncommon store, and 
 which afterwards produced a powerful impression on 
 my mind, these formed the principal inducement to 
 my visits to the matted chamber. 
 
 By the time I was sixteen, I had acquired as much 
 knowledge of the details of housekeeping, and of the 
 now almost neglected art of needlework, as was to be 
 expected from the pupil of such an adept in both as 
 my good and kind friend Mrs Johnstone. But, at 
 that period, my mind became engrossed by a newly 
 discovered pleasure. In my rambles through the old 
 rooms, I had found in the library, as one of the apart- 
 ments continued to be called, a parcel of old romances.
 
 26 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 This species of composition was entirely new to me, for 
 my father's shelves contained only volumes of a grave 
 and solid description, with the exception of the classics, 
 and some lighter works of English literature, and I 
 plunged into it with avidity. Whole mornings were 
 now spent in the secluded library, in utter forgetful- 
 ness of everything but the volume I perused; and 
 when compelled to quit it, the earliest opportunity saw 
 me hurrying back to the same spot. The influence 
 of these works over my imagination was soon per- 
 ceptible. Every other occupation grew, as long as 
 they lasted, irksome and unsatisfactory. Brought up 
 in simplicity and retirement, and entirely ignorant of 
 the world, I was charmed by the pictures of life painted 
 in these books ; and for the first time sighed over the 
 seclusion in which we lived. I began to weave ro- 
 mances for myself — I fancied a hero in every stranger; 
 and a wandering pedlar I often transformed into some- 
 thing very suspicious. 
 
 I did not like to confess to my father the nature of 
 my new studies. Something told me that he could 
 not approve of them ; and unable to resign a grati- 
 fication to which I had become so partial, I was silent 
 on the subject, though my conscience loudly checked 
 me. Mrs Johnstone indulged me too much, and was 
 too ignorant of the nature of the works I perused, to 
 interfere with my pastime, though she warned me 
 against sitting in the library for fear of cold. The old 
 servants indeed shook their heads, and wondered what
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 27 
 
 Miss Rose could see in that old gousty uncanny-like 
 room. But, in spite of their warnings, time wore on, 
 and I continued my visits, undisturbed by either ghost 
 or goblin.
 
 28 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Thou rememb'rest the house — the home of our childhood ; 
 High and white were its walls, stained with the damp of years : 
 There afar did we dwell from the noise of cities 
 In the old, old time. 
 
 Our household consisted of two female servants and 
 one man. John, the man-servant, was an important 
 person. He had been long with us ; and exercised 
 more authority in the family than my father himself. 
 He had the care of the glebe, — which, though not large, 
 was a good one, — the garden, and the horse. He was 
 honesty itself, and my father had full trust in him. 
 Though I grew up under his eye, he never treated me 
 but as a child. I was still at sixteen to him but the 
 • u bit lassie," who, twelve years before, had been ac- 
 customed to trot beside his wheelbarrow, and picked 
 his pocket of the apples which he placed there for the 
 purpose. He petted me still as a spoiled imp ; but 
 he paid no attention to my orders, unless enforced by 
 my father's authority. He reigned supreme over the 
 other servants ; was always grumbling at their lazi- 
 ness and want of housewifely thrift; and indeed was
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 29 
 
 never satisfied. He found fault with the way in whieh 
 Peggy managed the cow, which he pretended to trace 
 in the butter. He objected to the porridge and broth ; 
 and in short led them a very restless life. Nothing- 
 pleased him more than to raise them from their beds 
 at an early hour. I sometimes thought he had a 
 malicious satisfaction in rising betimes himself. He 
 would station himself behind the kitchen-door, and 
 demand admittance till the girls were forced to yield. 
 He would then stalk in, and light his pipe at the fire, 
 uttering many caustic remarks on their love of ease ; 
 and, satisfied that he had gained his point, proceed 
 to his work till breakfast-time. 
 
 He lived in a small cot adjoining the stables, the 
 arrangements of which were all conducted by himself. 
 John was a bachelor, and indeed openly expressed his 
 contempt for the other sex, " who," he said, " still 
 bore about them the deceiving tricks of their mother 
 Eve." I was the only female allowed to cross his 
 threshold. When a child, I often followed him there; 
 and nothing delighted me more than to tumble his 
 goods and chattels into confusion, thus ensuring him 
 a redding up* for every visit I paid. 
 
 He had originally been a dissenter, and still had 
 some peculiar notions of his own about church-govern- 
 ment, with which he enlightened every one except my 
 father. Of him he stood somewhat in awe, at least 
 he never broached his opinions before him. My father 
 
 * Patting in order.
 
 30 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 was considered a learned man ; and John had a great 
 respect for learning, having been twice in Glasgow, 
 and seen the college there, — a wonderful place he 
 thought, — and ever after regarded with reverence all 
 who had studied within its walls. 
 
 We had not many visiters, I have already said, to 
 disturb the quiet of our house. Some of my father's 
 gray-haired elders occasionally dropped in of an 
 evening to retail the little news of the parish, or to 
 tell of some sick person who was desirous of a visit 
 from the minister. Sometimes the pastor of a neigh- 
 bouring parish would ride over to call for his brother 
 minister, and take a cup of tea with us. The school- 
 master would now and then come in, to beg (if it 
 was the proper season) a few slips of rare flowers, or 
 to have, if possible, a little argumentation with my 
 father, who would gently endeavour to avoid it, yet 
 not so as to give offence. But still we were often 
 left to ourselves for days together. We did not feel 
 the solitude oppressive however. I had my house- 
 keeping and my work to occupy me. I had also my 
 flower-beds and my books, for my father had made 
 me a good scholar. There were, besides, Mrs John- 
 stone and the old library at the Craiglands to resort 
 to, whenever my father was busy and I wanted 
 variety. My father had his parishioners, the sick and 
 dying, to visit, his discourses to prepare for Sabbath, 
 and his books and garden to amuse him, both of which 
 he loved. So the want of society was scarcely felt 
 by us.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 31 
 
 The only events of importance which interrupted 
 the quiet tenor of our lives were the half-yearly 
 sacramental occasions, or preachings, as they are 
 generally called in the country. It was a very busy 
 as well as solemn time then in the manse. Several 
 clergymen, some of them from parishes nigh at hand, 
 others from a greater distance, assisted my father at 
 these times, and the latter, of course, took up their 
 abode at the manse. Deeply impressed by the solem- 
 nity of his duties, every moment which was not abso- 
 lutely required by the calls of hospitality was spent 
 by my father in retirement, and the care of our guests 
 principally devolved upon me. We had some godly 
 ministers among us at that time, though others were 
 very careless ; and my father was particular as to 
 whom he invited. I was well acquainted with all of 
 them, and loved to have them with us. 
 
 Performed with simplicity and earnestness, this 
 holy ordinance is peculiarly touching and beautiful. 
 The peasantry of this country have always been dis- 
 tinguished for the zeal with which they attend its 
 celebration. At Auchtermuir multitudes came flock- 
 ing to the tent-preaching which always accompanied 
 it. It took place in the sunny month of July, when 
 the days were at the longest. The churchyard, where 
 the tent was placed, was early in the day crowded 
 with strangers from the adjacent parishes, some from 
 greater distances than one would believe in these 
 times, and many came even from the town. Then no 
 one counted ten miles too far to travel to a sacrament.
 
 32 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 The young and the old, the rich and the poor, were 
 seen sitting on the same gravestones, or resting pro- 
 miscuously on the grass. In general there was great 
 decency preserved in their deportment, or if some of 
 the younger hearers did occasionally exhibit signs of 
 restlessness and levity, these were amply redeemed 
 by the air of deep and devout attention manifested by 
 the more grave and elderly. To them, indeed, it 
 seemed a feast on which they loved to linger. 
 
 The manse, on this day, was open to all who 
 desired refreshment. A cold dinner was spread early 
 in the forenoon in the parlour. The gentry were 
 attended to there, and the poor were made equally 
 welcome in the kitchen. The expense was trifling, 
 for baskets of vegetables, and sometimes a lamb, or a 
 side of mutton, would be sent as presents by some of 
 the neighbouring gentlemen, — and poultry from the 
 farm-houses would also arrive. The strangers gen- 
 erally brought provisions along with them, with 
 which they retired, during a pause in the services, 
 to some shady spot, slaking their thirst afterwards 
 at a little runlet by the roadside. All, however, 
 returned in time to hear the closing discourse of 
 the day. The minister selected for this duty was 
 generally chosen for his popularity. How sweet and 
 impressive these evening addresses were ! The church 
 doors were closed, and the congregation, amounting 
 often to thousands, assembled beneath the open canopy 
 of heaven. Field-preachings, as they are called, were 
 common things in those days, when church accommo-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 33 
 
 dation was limited, and many associations were con- 
 nected with them. There were few families amongst 
 our peasantry whose fathers could not tell tales of 
 dark midnight services, when wind and rain beat on 
 
 O 7 
 
 the heads of the devoted few assembled on the bleak 
 hill side, or in the wild moss hag. The old spirit had 
 not yet burned out, the same severe unyielding prin- 
 ciple, wanting only circumstances to call it into 
 action ; the same love of devotional exercises glowed 
 in the bosoms of these men as in their fathers'. 
 They were still a stern deeply meditative race, — a 
 race whose names are worthy to be transmitted to the 
 latest posterity, as the faithful of their country. 
 
 To return to what I was describing, — the evening 
 sermon. The scene was beautiful in itself: how 
 much more so when viewed in its sacred character. 
 The churchyard, as is often the case, was surrounded 
 by large trees, which sheltered the hearers from 
 the setting beams of the summer sun. Beneath their 
 shade sat many an aged patriarch, — men who had 
 witnessed repeated scenes of the same kind, and who 
 doubtless looked upon the present as their last. Lovely 
 family groups were around, and tottering children, 
 too young to be left at home, ran gaily among the 
 graves in which their fathers reposed. The language 
 of the preacher drew vigour and animation from the 
 sight before him, and the psalm which followed the 
 discourse was always sung with a fervour which ex- 
 pressed the deep feelings of his hearers. Thus, amidst 
 the beauties of nature and the solemn memorials of 
 vol. i. c
 
 M ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 the dead, rose the voice of prayer and of praise, more 
 touching in its simplicity than the loftiest strains in 
 the proudest temple, and reaching direct to the heart. 
 
 Of course, the reader will understand that this 
 description refers only to the summer sacrament. In 
 winter, tent-preaching was unnecessary and impossible 
 — the state of the weather and the roads hindered all 
 strangers. We had then only our own people, and 
 the services were shorter, and in the church. 
 
 My father and I frequently visited the poor of the 
 parish together. I knew every individual of them, and 
 in my own solitary walks would often rest in their cot- 
 tages. I liked nothing better than to sit down beside 
 some old granny in her chimney-corner. The recital 
 by these ancient crones of events which took place in 
 their early years, so rich with traits of shrewdness, 
 and sometimes even illuminated by a gleam of true 
 poetry, were to me delightful. I admired their 
 homely good sense, and strong natural expressions, 
 and only secretly wished that they would keep their 
 cottages a little cleaner. 
 
 The farm-houses, I grieve to say, were not much 
 superior in this respect to the cots of the poorer sort. 
 Indeed, except in point of size, their outward appear- 
 ance was not much better, and within they were al- 
 most equally sluttish. The farm-houses, however, 
 always possessed a spence or parlour, which was in 
 better order than the kitchen, being generally reserved 
 for the reception of visiters. Thus, we were often 
 detained in the passage, or at the door, when we
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 35 
 
 visited a farmer's family, till the shutters of the room 
 were opened, and the free light admitted, the first time 
 probably for many days,- into the small and musty- 
 smelling apartment. A few articles of a better kind 
 of furniture stood there, — the gudewife's chest of 
 drawers, or perhaps a large press with folding doors 
 made of some dark wood, probably walnut-tree, a few 
 mahogany chairs, and a table of the same material, — 
 all in execrable order. A piece of carpet was then a 
 rare thing, even in the houses of substantial farmers. 
 
 We were always received at these houses with a 
 kindly welcome. They liked a friendly visit from 
 their minister. We could not come too often. Most 
 hospitably were we entertained. It would have been 
 an outrage upon all old customs to leave a family 
 without partaking of their hospitality, it mattered not 
 what was the hour. " It wad be an unco thing," said 
 the mistress of one of these farm-houses upon one 
 occasion, u to ha'e it said through the kintra, that the 
 minister and his dochter were in our hoose, and left it 
 without breaking bread — Xa, na." So we never ven- 
 tured to infringe upon established rules but that one 
 time. 
 
 Sometimes we were invited to drink tea at these 
 farm-houses. It was at what would be now considered 
 a strangely early hour. What an important evening 
 that was at the farm ! Some neighbouring farmers' 
 families were always invited on these occasions to 
 meet us. Our place of entertainment was, of course, 
 the spence — they never used the word parlour then.
 
 36 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 The servants and younger children remained in the 
 kitchen, though sometimes they obtained glimpses of 
 the company through the open door. As the party 
 in the kitchen never dreamed of lowering their voices, 
 their conversation at such times mingled strangely 
 with that carried on in the room. But no one minded 
 it. There was very little ceremony at these primitive 
 tea-drinkings. Sometimes, for example, a bare-armed, 
 bare-legged servant girl, fresh from the byre or the 
 potato field, quite insensible of indecorum, would 
 show herself at the door, and summon our hostess out 
 for a moment, with " Mistress, you're wanted ben;" and 
 her mistress would go and return presently, without 
 deeming any apology at all necessary to her guests. 
 
 What a display of good things did the tea-table 
 exhibit on these occasions ! Proud was the hostess, 
 too, amidst all her fatigues, which gradually brought 
 her countenance to match the colour of the bows in 
 her cap, of her showily patterned china, her resplen- 
 dent tea-tray, and her cocoa-nut sugar-basin hooped 
 with silver, brought from abroad by some relative, 
 who had crossed the seas, and returned full of strange 
 marvels, and spirit-stirring adventures, to excite the 
 wonder of his simple friends. The table literally 
 groaned beneath the weight of the things heaped up- 
 on it. There were not only piles of bread and butter, 
 but quantities of fried ham, pickled tongue, and 
 cheese. There was no want also of sweet things, for 
 those who preferred them, though most began with the 
 solids. These included short-bread and currant-bun,
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 37 
 
 and different jams and jellies, in old-fashioned crystal 
 dishes. Ample as the feast might be, the viands soon 
 vanished. When the tea-cups were filled, and the 
 demands of the mistress for more hot water, from the 
 stout gaping servant-girl, were silenced for a time, my 
 father was requested to ask a blessing, and then the 
 company fell to. 
 
 The more youthful portion of the party, consisting 
 of rosy lads and lasses, were always seated formally 
 by the wall of the room, their loud laughter checked 
 into low giggles by the presence of the minister. 
 The seniors were arranged in the post of honour, to 
 which I also was admitted, near the fireplace. Each 
 comfortable looking " gudewife " was arrayed in one 
 of those ancient silks, some of which have been pre- 
 served to raise the envy of the present generation, 
 and had a handkerchief spread carefully over her 
 knees, to protect it from stains. A silk gown was not 
 so easily obtained in those days, and was an heir- 
 loom in a family. The more elderly men congre- 
 gated together, and spoke of their crops and the 
 markets, or listened to my father's conversation. 
 
 When the tea-things were removed, the punch- 
 bowl was introduced, which was superintended in 
 turn by the "gudeman," while his wife, released 
 from her labours, took her place among the other 
 women. Many gibes and jokes flew about under its 
 influence, but all in a spirit of good-humoured raillery. 
 The merry-making never lasted long, or was carried 
 too great lengths. The party broke up at an early
 
 38 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 hour ; and as these meetings of friends generally took 
 place at full moon, we had always a lovely walk 
 home afterwards. My father rather liked to encour- 
 age these entertainments. They brought the people 
 into closer union, and made them more neighbourly, 
 and better acquainted with each other. I never saw 
 that they led to any excess ; and undoubtedly, the 
 parishioners liked their minister better, and did not 
 respect him the less, for these opportunities of easy 
 intercourse.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 39 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PARISH CHARACTERS. 
 
 Old Andrew was a sturdy wight ; 
 A kind and honest heart had he : 
 He fed the poor, upheld the right, 
 And was the king in Camhus-lea. 
 
 The most frequent scene of the entertainments I have 
 attempted to describe in the last chapter was at the 
 house of a miller, situated on the banks of the Clyde, 
 from which it and a few neighbouring cottages bor- 
 rowed their name. The miller was what is called in 
 Scotland a bein man, that is, wealthy for his station in 
 life. Old Andrew Liddel was a fine though de- 
 cayed specimen of a Scottish yeoman of the better 
 class. In his youth he must have been upwards of 
 six feet in height ; but an accident (on which Andrew 
 was always unusually reserved) necessitated the use 
 of crutches. Still in his old as;e he was a commanding 
 figure, and his long gray hair hung around a counte- 
 nance marked with benevolence and shrewdness, not 
 to mention a tolerable portion of self-importance and 
 irascibility. All of these qualities lie was well known 
 to possess.
 
 40 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 The miller's helpmate was of a different nature. 
 Her notions were as narrow and contracted, as her 
 husband's were generous and kind. She was come 
 of a family noted too in the country for their mean 
 and parsimonious habits. But her disposition could 
 only indulge itself in low and petty things ; such as 
 scrimping the servants, when Andrew was not there 
 to interfere (a thing he never permitted), or in substi- 
 tuting inferior articles for home consumption, when- 
 ever she could venture to do so. 
 
 A son and daughter were the offspring of this ill- 
 matched couple. The daughter, in early life, had 
 made what is called a Scotch marriage, with a low 
 and dissipated character, a circumstance which wrung 
 Andrew's honest heart, for she was his favourite. 
 Some of her children were occasionally visitants at 
 the mill. As for herself, she was rarely there, for 
 the place of her residence was at a distance, and she 
 had become, under the treatment of a brutal husband, 
 a careworn and spiritless drudge. 
 
 The son in appearance resembled his father, but in 
 disposition was too like his mother. He was his 
 father's principal assistant in the mill. 
 
 Andrew, besides his mill, rented a small farm, kept 
 several cows, and was altogether in a thriving condi- 
 tion. The mill-house was a comfortable dwelling of 
 the kind. The mill itself was only a few yards dis- 
 tant from the dwelling-house, overhanging the Clyde. 
 It was a green sunny spot ; and the merry click of 
 the mill, and the rushing waters, with the sunbeams
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 41 
 
 dancing upon them, made it the most cheerful little 
 place in the parish. Old Andrew himself was a 
 striking and appropriate object in the scene, seated as 
 was his usual custom in fine weather on the sloping 
 bank which descended to the river, his crutches laid 
 beside him, and his gray locks waving in the wind 
 from beneath his broad blue bonnet. One of his 
 grandchildren was generally by his side, playing with 
 one of " auld daddy's " supporters, a thing too heavy 
 for it to lift, while the old man laughed and sported 
 with his infant attendant. 
 
 But what a roar of welcome did he utter when he 
 perceived any favourite visiters, and my father and 
 myself were of the number, approaching the mill. 
 Slowly, and with caution, raising himself from his 
 recumbent position, for he was very lame, he would 
 seize his crutches, and advance towards them with 
 huge strides, bawling out welcomes as he proceeded. 
 He would then usher them into the house ; nor was 
 he content till every good thing in it was set before 
 them. 
 
 Andrew was a stanch supporter of both church and 
 state. He feared God and honoured the king ; and 
 it was not altogether safe for any one, even under his 
 roof, which hospitality in general made sacred, to 
 differ from him on these subjects. Many a tough 
 battle he and our servant John had together. They 
 were fairly matched ; for if the miller had the better 
 in point of lungs, John was more than his equal in 
 pertinacity and inflexibility. Andrew was not slow
 
 42 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 in discovering this ; and much indignation it caused 
 him. But the minister's man was a sacred person, 
 and he prudently smothered it. So at last he gene- 
 rally cut the argument short with some such speed i 
 as, " Houts, man, dinna deave folk ; ye ken nought 
 aboot it ; — wull ye tak a dram ?" And he would 
 produce his bottle as the best means of closing the 
 dispute ; leaving his opponent grinning in secret 
 triumph at his victory. Few people cared, like John, 
 to provoke the wrath of the stout old miller ; and his 
 toasts, " the Church, may it ever flourish," and " the 
 King, God bless him," were in general acknowledged 
 with all respect by both dissenters and radicals, for 
 we had a few of the last mentioned class of indi- 
 viduals amongst us. 
 
 Andrew was also a firm upholder of my father's 
 authority through the parish, and countenanced no 
 one, either by giving them relief or employing them, 
 who did not statedly attend the kirk. Bad weather 
 and good, Andrew himself was always there, being- 
 conveyed in his cart. He had his own peculiar ways, 
 however, of testifying respect for my father : he was 
 quite indifTerent to the means by which he attained 
 his object. I shall give one instance in explanation. 
 
 There was in my father's session a very troublesome 
 individual, who took every occasion of asserting what 
 he called his independence by opposing the minister. 
 He was supported in this by a wrong-headed obsti- 
 nate person, one of our small proprietors, who was his 
 landlord. The office of parish schoolmaster having
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 43 
 
 become vacant, several candidates offered themselves 
 for the place. Among them was a brother of the 
 proprietor mentioned, who united to very mean 
 abilities not the very best of reputations. However, 
 both the elder and his landlord were clamorous for 
 his election. You see, reader, we had sometimes 
 crosses even in our quiet parish. 
 
 It chanced on the forenoon of the day on which this 
 weighty affair was to be settled, that Elder Tuthope, 
 on his way to the meeting, fully braced for opposition, 
 passed near to the mill, which was his shortest road to 
 the place appointed. Andrew, who, as usual, was 
 seated on the sunny bank before his house, no sooner 
 observed the pawky old man crossing the field, than, 
 suspecting his errand, of which he had heard some- 
 thing, and determined to frustrate it, he shouted after 
 him, and the elder was compelled to obey the sum- 
 mons. Then ensued many reproaches on the miller's 
 part, that so near a neighbour should think of passing 
 the mill, without giving him (Andrew) a call, and 
 tasting of the gudewife's bottle. In vain the elder 
 pleaded haste and the nature of his errand. Andrew 
 would take no denial, forced him into the house, and 
 forthwith compounded a jug of hot toddy, which he 
 insisted on his guest's liberally partaking of, for the 
 double purpose of " keeping out the cauld " (it was a 
 day in June) and giving him nerve for the decided 
 part he was to act, which the sly old miller had no 
 difficulty in extracting from him. It has been 
 whispered that the water which formed one half of
 
 44 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 the toddy was somewhat adulterated. At all events, 
 Tuthope reached his own house by six o'clock in the 
 evening, having first had a pretty long sleep in one of 
 the miller's beds ; and next morning when he awoke 
 he had a confused recollection of numerous jugs of 
 toddy, which he and the hospitable miller had dis- 
 cussed, but nothing further. 
 
 Of course, the meeting went off quietly. The 
 heritor, unsupported by his colleague, was compelled 
 to yield to the force of numbers. A respectable 
 young man was appointed ; and Elder Tuthope, 
 breathing vengeance against his ensnarer, and ashamed 
 to show his face at sessions (for the story by some 
 means got public), soon threw up his office, and joined 
 a body of dissenters some miles off. 
 
 Andrew in general, when questioned upon the sub- 
 ject, would shake his head gravely, and affect the 
 profoundest ignorance. But with his own particular 
 cronies he chuckled over the event, and had no hesi- 
 tation in acknowledging how he had " bamboozled " 
 the elder. 
 
 My father never liked the story to be mentioned in 
 his presence, for Andrew, with all his faults, was an 
 especial favourite of his. 
 
 Another of our most noted public characters was 
 the parish betheral, or bellman, as he was generally 
 called, in reference of course to his office of bell-ringer 
 on Sabbaths. Old William was an original of his 
 kind. My earliest recollections can recall no change 
 in his appearance, which was reverend and respect-
 
 KOSE DOUGLAS. 45 
 
 able. Time seemed to make no impression upon 
 him. He never grew older. He was little and spare 
 in figure. He still wore the same suit of rusty black 
 on Sabbaths as he had exhibited twenty years before, 
 and his hair, which was no grayer, was carefully 
 combed down above its collar. To his other occupa- 
 tion he added that of gravedigger. To such an em- 
 ployment one would suppose nobody can be partial, 
 and yet William, I believe, had a kind of professional 
 satisfaction in the constructing of a grave. At least, 
 he loved to talk of his art, and would calmly and 
 scientifically enlarge upon horrors that made the flesh 
 creep and the listener shudder. 
 
 William the bellman, arrayed in his grave-digging 
 habiliments, was one of the bugbears of my childhood. 
 To my childish imagination he constantly bore about 
 with him the smell of the chamel-house ; and I re- 
 member being often frightened to sleep by Lizzy 
 Lightfoot, the girl who attended me, by the threat of 
 wrapping me in old William's clay-covered coat if I 
 did not lie quiet, — an alternative which silenced me 
 immediately. 
 
 The bellman was somewhat of a cynic. He was 
 formal and pedantic in manner ; very radical, or, as 
 he translated it, liberal in his opinions, and fully con- 
 sidered himself, the minister not excepted, the most 
 enlightened man in the neighbourhood. 
 
 William was a married man, but had no family. 
 He and his wife, Kate, lived in the village nearest
 
 46 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 the church. He treated his wife with most con- 
 temptuous indifference. He suffered her to remain 
 under the same roof with him, but they might be 
 said to live apart. William provided his own meals, 
 and prepared them too. Kate had to cater for hers 
 — she got no assistance from him. Even when she 
 was on her deathbed, he showed the same grudg- 
 ing and unnatural spirit, and the poor creature, during 
 a somewhat tedious illness, might have actually 
 suffered from want, but for the charity of her neigh- 
 bours. He himself dug her grave and laid her in it, 
 with the same composure and indifference he testified 
 upon all occasions ; remarking to the bystanders, as 
 he smoothed down the turf above it, that " the auld 
 woman was fortunate in having such a fine saft day 
 for her burial." 
 
 The only creature to which William seemed at- 
 tached was a small wiry terrier, which, after his 
 wife's death, became his sole companion, and was the 
 detestation of all the junior population in the parish. 
 Touzy, as his master called him, was the ugliest of 
 his race, and of a temper that manifested itself in 
 barking and snapping at every thing and person — the 
 bellman excepted. They were constantly together. 
 When William pursued his avocations in the church- 
 yard, the dog kept watcli beside the grave, and wo 
 to any intruder who ventured in — Touzy' s fangs in 
 a moment would be at his shins. Even on Sabbath 
 the dog accompanied his master to church, lying
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 47 
 
 at his feet during the service ; and, as if aware of the 
 sanctity of the place, he was one of the quietest and 
 most orderly of the congregation. 
 
 William the bellman, in addition to the crime of 
 being " one in authority," was viewed with a kind of 
 horror by his more youthful neighbours, since they 
 had discovered that he did not scruple to apply certain 
 dingy pieces of wood, picked up in the churchyard, 
 and universally believed to be fragments of coffins, 
 for the purposes of fuel. Many an urchin has stolen 
 with curious eye to the old bellman's window in the 
 twilight, and peered through the chinks of the closed 
 shutters, dreading to behold he knew not what. 
 
 William, however, was a particular favourite at all 
 the farm-houses Avithin a circuit of several miles. 
 The bearer of news is always welcome in a remote 
 country district ; and William was deservedly re- 
 garded as the oracle of the neighbourhood. Not a 
 birth, marriage, or death (the latter of course) took 
 place without his cognizance. He treasured up every 
 petty scandal also for the ears of the gudewives 
 whom he visited in his rounds, as the understood 
 price of his entertainment. His importance seemed 
 always to increase on the making of one of these 
 calls, as he named them, and his step relaxed into a 
 more dignified walk as he approached the house. 
 His appearance was certainly welcomed at most 
 places. The " Eh, sirs, here comes auld Willie ! " 
 bringing all within the dwelling instantly to greet 
 him, and to hear the news ; which William, however,
 
 48 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 like an experienced man as lie was, did not communi- 
 cate hurriedly, but by degrees and at fitting intervals. 
 To be sure, a glass of the gude wife's best whisky, or 
 an invitation to pause and take a share of the family 
 dinner, had generally the effect of unbending his 
 dignity and subduing his reserve wonderfully. But 
 still, as if afraid of condescending too far, he never 
 entirely relaxed the solemnity of his manner. When 
 invited to stay dinner, he always expected to be 
 asked to say grace, and the one he pronounced was 
 generally of an interminable length. 
 
 William liked best, however, when he could sit 
 down beside some old cummer* in the chimney- 
 corner, while the younger members of the household 
 were engaged with their tasks. He liked a cup of 
 tea, with a moderate lacing of usquebaugh, to make 
 it sit comfortably on the stomach. It was at these 
 times that he shone as a newsmonger ; and in the 
 intervals of sipping the tea, would shake his head 
 gravely, and utter many sage reflections upon the 
 evil defections of the times, the impending ruin of 
 both church and state, and the grievous backslidings 
 of the neighbourhood. 
 
 It was a practice of my father's to make periodical 
 visits to various portions of his parish through the 
 year, for the purpose of religious examination among 
 his flock. These were called questionings by the 
 people ; and being announced from the pulpit, were 
 always well attended. At each of them William was 
 
 * Gossip, an old woman.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 49 
 
 a regular assistant. As an official, he either con- 
 sidered it indecorous to be absent, or, as some sup- 
 posed, he had an eye after an invitation to partake, 
 along with other favoured individuals, of the beef and 
 greens, and the roast " chucky" which those who 
 could afford insisted on preparing for the dinner of 
 the minister, and which followed the dismissal of the 
 meeting. At all events, he seemed restless and dis- 
 satisfied till the invitation was extended, which, from 
 the old-fashioned manners of the times, his lingering 
 behind others always compelled, though the gudewives, 
 however glad to see him on other occasions, were 
 then barely civil to the " greedy body," as they called 
 him. To frowning looks and short speeches William 
 was however indifferent, if he secured the great object 
 of his wishes — his dinner. 
 
 Between the miller's helpmate and the bellman 
 there existed great animosity, springing principally 
 from his forward behaviour on the occasions when 
 the meeting chanced to be at the mill. Her grudg- 
 ing disposition barely tolerated the presence of more 
 important guests ; and her temper was consequently 
 sorely tried, when the kind-hearted old miller, whose 
 maxim was always, u Fill the house, — the more the 
 merrier," in dealing out his invitations never failed to 
 particularize William, who, indeed, took care pur- 
 posely to place himself in Andrew's view, aware he 
 had nothing to expect from his other half. In vain 
 did his indignant spouse hint that, " there was no 
 room, — every place was filled up : " all such reminders 
 vol. i. D
 
 50 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 were answered by her lord and master with a loud 
 " Wheugh," which there was no resisting ; and 
 William took his place at the board-end in triumph. 
 Nor did it at all avail that the hostess neglected him, 
 and regarded his proceedings with an evil eye, when 
 the jolly miller was ever ready to replenish his 
 trencher, and to press him in stentorian accents to 
 " keep on." 
 
 It was also in vain that the enraged matron devised 
 plans to prevent the bellman from attending these 
 meetings. Sure as the day came round were 
 William's sharp and observant features to be descried 
 on my father's right hand in the miller's barn, and 
 she knew there was no hope. The attention, too, which 
 Andrew paid to him was adding gall to bitterness. 
 William's peculiarities were a source of great mirth to 
 the miller, which made him somewhat of a favourite ; 
 and this annoyed the good woman exceedingly. 
 
 " It was a sair trial," she said to a sympathizing 
 neighbour, " to see folk forcing themsels into anither's 
 hoose without sae muckle as leave speered, and eatin' 
 o' the best, and drinkin' o' the best, that never saw 
 a beef bane o' their ain frae Whitsunday to Martinmas, 
 and wi' as little gratitude too to the givers, as if it war 
 ane o' their ain mill spokes. But," she supposed, 
 " they maun submit to it, as Andrew wad aye ha'e his 
 ain way." 
 
 William, on his part, regarded the miller's wife with 
 great abhorrence. " kShe was," he said " a pitifu' and 
 a penurious creature, wha, far frae makin', like that
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 51 
 
 holy and esteemed woman, Dorcas, (Acts ninth and 
 thirty-sixth), coats and garments for the poor and for 
 them whilk needed them, wad even refuse a fellow- 
 creature a morsel of meat or a drink of water." But 
 William, secure in the favour of the miller himself, 
 set her at defiance, and though declaring that every 
 bite he swallowed under her roof went nigh to choke 
 him, proved himself upon each occasion to be a good 
 and active trencher-man. 
 
 One other character we had in the parish deserving 
 particular mention. This was an old weaver in 
 one of the villages, or tonus, as the people called 
 them, whose name was Lawrence or Lowrie Walker. 
 Lowrie was not an elder, though well meriting to 
 hold that office. He was a Sabbath-school teacher. 
 When my father became minister of Auchtermuir, 
 there was no Sabbath-school in existence there, but 
 one was soon set in operation, and Lowrie, before 
 long, offered his services. He was an excellent 
 teacher. He had a power of arresting the attention 
 of the young that was quite remarkable, and he early 
 secured my father's approbation. Of course, his 
 language was somewhat homely ; but the children 
 understood him all the better. In summer evenings 
 they met in the church, and in winter in Lowrie's 
 own dwelling, where every inch of room was occupied. 
 My father sometimes assisted him in his disinterested 
 labours, and when school was closed would often bring 
 him to the manse to tea, and to have a little quiet 
 conversation, for Lowrie was no common man.
 
 52 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 He was a person of a peculiar order of mind, vigorous 
 and penetrating. He had a deep acquaintance with 
 the various workings of the human heart, and had 
 severely studied his own. He was a rigid Calvinist 
 in creed, and had evidently meditated much on the 
 deeper mysteries of our revelation. His mind was 
 rather of a stern and gloomy cast, and his imagina- 
 tion seemed to dwell with an awful intensity on the 
 horrors of punishment, while the love, and peace, 
 and purity of the Gospel, were much less enlarged 
 upon. This sometimes made his conversation terri- 
 ble. When I was a very young girl, I would often 
 steal out of the room that I might not hear him, for 
 there was a fearful reality about his descriptions that 
 haunted one. 
 
 I think I see him at this moment seated on the 
 opposite side of the fireplace from my father, bend- 
 ing slightly forward in his earnestness, with a hand 
 resting upon each knee ; his cold clear grey eye filled 
 with a solemn meaning, as it gleams from under his 
 shaggy eyebrows, now at my father, now at me, as 
 we sit silently listening to him. I used at such times 
 to think, as I looked at both, that they were no bad 
 representations in themselves of the Law and the 
 Gospel. My father's benignant look and spirit well 
 pourtrayed the latter, while Lowrie's sterner nature 
 and unflinching severity were as much in accordance 
 with the former. Still, we had few to equal him. 
 
 He was very eloquent — rough graphic eloquence it 
 was however. He was much respected by his neigh-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 53 
 
 bours. Next to the minister, the youthful delinquents 
 of the parish stood most in awe of Lowrie Walker. 
 If any boy from Lowrie' s small village ventured on a 
 Sabbath morning to go a-wandering, it was with 
 fear and trembling he returned. The boldest dreaded 
 his stern rebuke. He was also very useful in attend- 
 ing deathbeds, and would pour forth prayers beside 
 them that reminded one of some wrestling saint of 
 old, — so humble were the confessions, so solemn 
 and impressive the appeals he made. He was a 
 kind of John Bunyan in his way. By his own 
 acknowledgment, he had come through a somewhat 
 similar course of spiritual training. I never read the 
 history of that celebrated worthy, without, in my 
 own mind, associating him with Lowrie Walker, the 
 old weaver.
 
 54 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A WITCH. 
 
 Not oft her form was seen 
 
 With heavy step to cross the miry green, 
 
 Or seated in the sunshine hy the door 
 
 With listless gaze upon the scene hefore ; 
 
 But still my fancy peopled all around, 
 
 And with mysterious horrors marked the ground. 
 
 I HAVE already observed that our visits were always 
 welcome to the poor. There was, however, one soli- 
 tary dwelling among the many where we were kindly 
 received, whose door was shut against us, and into 
 which my father's ministrations could never penetrate. 
 This abode, for various reasons, possessed a peculiar 
 interest in my mind. Its only inhabitant, strange to 
 say, was a woman. I know not when I heard this 
 woman first mentioned, or when the suspicions 
 concerning her began to make some stir in the 
 neighbourhood ; but for many years previous to my 
 attaining womanhood, she was almost universally 
 shunned and detested. And yet, there was nothing 
 violent or hostile in her demeanour to awaken this 
 feeling. It is true, she maintained no intercourse
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 55 
 
 with her neighbours ; never entered their dwellings 
 or invited them into hers, and any communication 
 which she was obliged to hold with them was of the 
 most abrupt and ungracious kind. But yet, there 
 seemed no sufficient reason for such suspicions and 
 decided animosity as she was regarded with. To me 
 she appeared as a link separated from the chain of 
 society, and without a wish to be again united. 
 
 Her appearance (but she was seldom visible) cor- 
 responded with her habits and the austere life she 
 led. Her looks were haughty and commanding, and 
 evidently far superior, though wasted and repulsive 
 from their harshness, to those of her own class of life. 
 There was something, indeed, in the whole aspect of 
 this woman that roused curiosity, — a something that 
 never failed to attract the eye, though the impression 
 left was far from pleasing. I could not reconcile with 
 reason the various fancies which she excited in me, 
 and was almost weak enough to join with the people 
 in their surmises concerning her character and the 
 powers which they believed her to possess. Never, 
 indeed, did one seem in appearance better fitted for 
 the exercise of supernatural power. The keen and 
 eagle-like eye, whose glance remained fixed on your 
 own till yours sank beneath it, the sharp and com- 
 manding features, and the tall upright figure unbent 
 even by age, were all in unison with it. 
 
 By those who professed to know something of her 
 early history, she was said to be the daughter of a 
 farmer, once in flourishing circumstances. To much
 
 56 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 personal beauty and haughtiness of spirit, she thus 
 added good expectations. As might be expected, 
 she had many suitors ; but her proud and lofty de- 
 meanour soon repulsed their advances. It was 
 whispered that the farmer's daughter was ambitious 
 as well as proud, and that she aspired to a higher 
 match than became her station in life. One young 
 man, it was rumoured, she had encouraged, but 
 finally rejected. He was said to have gone after- 
 wards to sea, and perished miserably in an engage- 
 ment with the enemy ; and his heartbroken parents 
 (for he was an only son) had never forgiven her who 
 had been the cause of their sorrow. Years wore 
 on — she herself remained unmarried. It was never 
 known what effect her lover's death had upon her, 
 for she received the account with composure. But 
 people did say that her looks were never the same 
 after that time. 
 
 Misfortune at length came upon the farmer. Several 
 bad seasons in succession, and severe and unusual 
 losses among his cattle — which, men pretended to say 
 were the retribution of Providence for the pride of the 
 family — brought the old man down. One by one, 
 his sons, and lastly his wife, were swept into the 
 grave. At last, heartbroken by his numerous mis- 
 fortunes, he himself died ; and thus Christian Lindsay, 
 whose proud spirit still bore her up beneath the eyes 
 of the world, was left an orphan, and dependent for 
 support on her own exertions. Her once boasted 
 beauty was faded. The farmer left only enough to
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 57 
 
 pay his debts, which were strictly discharged. His 
 daughter then left the parish, eager no doubt to 
 escape from the scene of her former prosperity, where 
 her fall was scarcely pitied, and no one knew whither 
 she went — she made no confidences. 
 
 Many years afterwards, when the Lindsays were 
 almost forgotten except by the older inhabitants, it 
 was rumoured that she had returned, and had silently 
 settled herself down in the neighbourhood of her early 
 home. But no one presumed to question her; and 
 she remained, as she evidently wished, undisturbed, — 
 perhaps she thought undiscovered. She supported 
 herself by spinning and knitting stockings, which she 
 principally disposed of in the county town. If she 
 had any other means of subsistence, it was not known. 
 She asked relief of no one. 
 
 An evil name is soon acquired. Whether in re- 
 venge of the unusual reserve of her manners or from 
 other circumstances — silence and solitude, however, 
 are quite sufficient to account for it — the stranger 
 erelong began to be looked upon with suspicious eyes. 
 Her habits were watched. It was observed to her 
 prejudice, that instead of joining in any intercourse 
 with those around her, she rather carefully avoided 
 it ; and several ebullitions of passion, occasioned by 
 their prying behaviour, completed the impression her 
 previous conduct had made on their minds. In a 
 country place where few events occur to excite in- 
 terest, the imagination must feed on what it can 
 obtain, and is liable to exaggerate. However, reserve
 
 58 HOSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 of manners among the poor is so rarely to be met with, 
 that there was some reason for the feelings which the 
 inhabitants of Auchtermuir entertained towards this 
 woman. I know not if the object of all these fears 
 (for the feeling among the country folks was as strong) 
 perceived the impression she had made on the minds 
 of those around her or not, at least, she showed no 
 uneasiness under it. She evidently desired no inter- 
 course with any one, and was perhaps well pleased to 
 be rid of it on such terms. The times when such 
 suspicions would have been dangerous had passed 
 away. She was seldom seen far from her dwelling, 
 which she had chosen for its solitude, except when 
 she went to dispose of her wares in town, and even 
 then generally but in the dusk of the evening, when 
 she was less liable to encounter observation. She 
 never attended church, or was seen farther than the 
 little shop in the Sauchiebog village, which was dis- 
 tant half a mile from her house, where, whatever 
 customer might be forced to wait, she was always 
 promptly and anxiously served, — the old woman of 
 groceries observing once with a knowing wink to a 
 neighbour, that " They needed a lang spune that 
 would sup wi the deil, and that it was aye safer to 
 Seech a witch than to flout her." 
 
 Exaggerated reports of her manner of life and her 
 supposed attributes became every day more widely 
 circulated. No tale, I suppose, is too absurd to obtain 
 a believer. I have no doubt but that half of the mis- 
 fortunes in the parish were before long placed to her
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 59 
 
 account ; and many a sagacious countryman have I 
 seen gravely shake his head and express his firm 
 belief in her arts. The neighbourhood of her cottage 
 began erelong to be deserted ; and, at the time to 
 which I allude, it was no unusual thing to find a 
 labourer who preferred an additional walk of two 
 miles on a cold evening and after a day's hard work, 
 to the risk of passing her dwelling in the twilight. 
 
 Her habitation was admirably calculated for the 
 prosecution of those arts in which she was said to be 
 an adept. It was of the very poorest description, and 
 stood by itself at the roadside on a lonely part of the 
 moor. This road, though indeed it was little better 
 than a mere bridle-path, was esteemed by the inhabi- 
 tants who lived near the hills a short cut ; but, as 
 may be believed, it was seldom used by them. To 
 confess the truth, I know not if I was myself entirely 
 free from a feeling of awe on approaching it. At all 
 events, I often contemplated the low brown walls and 
 mossy roof of the cottage, which was visible at a con- 
 siderable distance, with a strange mixture of sensa- 
 tions, in which I know not if curiosity or fear had the 
 greater share. The thin blue smoke rising faintly 
 from the moor and attesting her presence there, filled 
 me with indescribable emotions, and with an ardent 
 desire to know the history of the solitary being who, 
 shunned by all, seemed indifferent to all. I have 
 often, actuated by a strange fascination, wandered near 
 her dwelling, and have occasionally encountered the 
 repulsive old woman herself; but there was always
 
 60 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 something in her manner which checked me from 
 accosting her, and we passed in silence. The cottage 
 was not her own. Her rent was always punctually 
 paid, though I believe the owner would willingly have 
 refused the money if he had not dreaded betraying his 
 feelings towards her by so doing, and perhaps suffer- 
 ing in consequence. As it was, he bitterly lamented 
 having let his house to such a tenant, especially as 
 he was well aware that whenever she might choose to 
 leave it, so odious had the spot become in the minds 
 of men, he might vainly expect to obtain another 
 occupant. 
 
 My father endeavoured to soften the prejudices of 
 the people against her ; but, though in general they 
 yielded implicit conviction to his opinions, in this 
 instance there was no persuading them ; and having 
 vainly tried to open a communication with the woman 
 herself, he at length relinquished his well-meant en- 
 deavours. 
 
 At length loud murmurings began to be heard. 
 In the spring of 17 — , there was great mortality 
 among the cattle in my father's parish. Christian 
 Lindsay was accused as the cause. Such ignorance 
 may seem improbable at a period so near the present 
 time, but it is nevertheless true. She had been 
 seen among the cattle in the field of the farmer who 
 now held the farm which in former days her father 
 had possessed. He had been a principal sufferer in 
 the parish, and it had been ascertained as a fact that, 
 on this particular morning, more than one of the cows
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 61 
 
 had sickened which till then had not been affected. 
 This was considered sufficient proof of Christian's 
 guilt. The fanner was enraged at the losses he had 
 sustained, and was with difficulty restrained from 
 venting his indignation upon the person of the 
 criminal. And so great a sensation was created in 
 the neighbourhood, that a large body of the parishion- 
 ers, headed by no less a person than the bellman 
 himself, who owed the honour to his well known 
 powers as an orator, waited upon my father at the 
 manse to solicit his advice under the pressing state of 
 matters, insinuating, however, that the most advisable 
 course in their opinion was immediately to summon 
 the guilty person before the presbytery (a proceeding 
 which could not fail, they thought, to intimidate her), 
 and there oblige her to give such an account of herself 
 as might satisfy that reverend body, as well as the 
 inhabitants of Auchtermuir, whether she was a fit 
 neighbour for christian folk, or the " deil and his 
 cummers." 
 
 To this proposal, which was pompously made by 
 the bellman, while those who accompanied him stood 
 in admiration of his eloquence, occasionally confirming 
 the story by various nods and interjections, — my father 
 said as little as possible. He promised, indeed, to 
 consider the case more at his leisure ; tried to disarm 
 their superstitious fears ; and, as that would not do, 
 he finished by advising them to wait a little ; he himself 
 thought the woman in question insane, and they could 
 have no proof of her guilt in the case described.
 
 62 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 Here, however, a herd-boy they had brought with 
 them as evidence was thrust forward, who, by dint of 
 divers promptings and pushings from behind, was 
 made to tell his story. He had been in a remote 
 part of the field, it seemed, on the eventful morning, 
 and had seen Christian enter it. He shared, of course, 
 the common feelings regarding her ; and, to conceal 
 himself, he had hastily crept under the hedge, so that 
 she could not see him. She had first looked carefully 
 around her on entering, as if to make sure she was not 
 observed, (here the whole party significantly shook 
 their heads), then sitting down amongst the cattle, she 
 had begun to wring her hands and to rock her body 
 backwards and forwards, moaning and weeping all 
 the time as if in great distress. Terrified at witness- 
 ing this scene alone, which I suppose he considered a 
 kind of incantation, the boy at length contrived to 
 extricate himself without observation from his hiding- 
 place. He hastened home (a considerable distance) 
 with his story ; but when several of the family re- 
 paired to the field they found the old woman gone, 
 but instead of her, lo ! there were two of the cattle 
 lying on the ground groaning and stricken as with 
 sudden illness. This was the story, and it certainly 
 in some sort justified the suspicions of the honest 
 country-folks. 
 
 My father at last dismissed them, assuring them 
 that he would consider of everything most likely to 
 allay the ferment in the neighbourhood, and would 
 besides take an early opportunity of once more seek-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 63 
 
 ing an interview with the woman herself, — who, he 
 learned, had not been visible since the morning de- 
 scribed, bnt which was nothing unusual, as her neigh- 
 bours sometimes lost sight of her for days together — 
 and try if it were possible to induce her to give some 
 account of herself, since that appeared the only way 
 of quieting the minds of the parishioners in regard to 
 her. So saying, he sent them away, not more than 
 half satisfied, however, and still desirous of bringing 
 the case before a public court for examination.
 
 6*4 KUSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF THE WITCH. 
 
 The wild bird twittering on the heath, 
 The breeze that swept the glen, 
 She better loved to listen to 
 Than hum of busy men. 
 
 My father did not forget his promise of endeavouring 
 to obtain an interview with the old woman. For her 
 sake he felt it must be gained. He pitied her as a 
 lonely and deserted being, whose eccentricities had 
 exposed her to the suspicions of the plain and sober 
 race among whom we dwelt. The following morning, 
 therefore, seeing him lift his hat and walking-stick, I 
 guessed his intention, and, eager to gratify my curio- 
 sity, I asked and obtained leave to.accompany him on 
 his errand of kindness and compassion. 
 
 It was on a clear and bracing morning that we set 
 off on our unusual visit, mild also for the season of the 
 year, which was the beginning of April. A consider- 
 able degree of frost was still perceptible in the morn- 
 ings, but now a thousand dew-drops sparkled in the 
 sunshine, and the delicate spiders' webs which stretched
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 65 
 
 from bush to bush were glittering as with diamonds. 
 As we crossed the fields on our way to the woman's 
 hut, the timorous hares started from the furrows in 
 which they were reposing, and scampered from before 
 us. All nature was alive — the birds from their merry 
 carolling seemed to feel the enlivening breath of the 
 spring, and the pasture land looked green and in- 
 viting. My spirits rose in sympathy with the uni- 
 versal gladness displayed around me ; and as I gazed 
 on the bright prospect glancing in the sunshine, and 
 listened to the simple music of nature, I felt that this 
 was a beautiful though a sinful world. My father 
 seemed to share in my feelings. He bared his brow 
 to the morning breeze, and, as his eyes rested on the 
 clear blue sky above us, he softly exclaimed in the 
 words of the Psalmist — u O Lord, how excellent is 
 thy name in all the earth ! who hast set thy glory 
 above the heavens. — When I consider thy heavens, 
 the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which 
 thou hast ordained ; what is man, that thou art mind- 
 ful of him ? and the son of man, that thou visitest 
 him?" 
 
 After a considerable walk, we reached the moor on 
 which at some distance the old woman's dwelling- 
 stood. From the manse it was distant more than two 
 miles. We had gradually become silent and lost in 
 our own reflections. The prospect meanwhile grew 
 more wild and solitary, and the road rougher and more 
 unequal. We passed few houses, but one dark cluster 
 of huts was visible at a short distance rising like a 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 bb ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 broken mound upon the moor ; and we met only one 
 individual upon the road, who, walking briskly to- 
 wards the village, touched his bonnet respectfully to 
 my father as he moved on without interrupting us. 
 
 Black moss and waving heather were now all 
 around us, and the scene was as dreary as possible, 
 though still possessing the peculiar charm of wildness 
 and solitude. At times the shrill cry of the lapwing 
 (the Scottish peesweip), which we had alarmed by 
 too closely approaching her nest, echoed over the 
 waste, but all besides was silent. Black pools of stag- 
 nant water, or the upright stones, grey and weather- 
 beaten, probably marking the spot of some ancient 
 cairn, that occasionally presented themselves, alone 
 varied the monotonous surface of waving heath. Some- 
 times a tiny rill trickled across our path, soothing the 
 ear with its feeble music ; or a few black-faced sheep, 
 struck by the sight of our moving figures, raised their 
 heads at a little distance, and gazed timidly on us till 
 we passed ; — all was desolation and solitude. 
 
 Across this uninviting region did my father and I 
 then continue to advance, our thoughts probably simi- 
 larly occupied. Mine were fully engrossed by con- 
 templating the object of our visit to this spot, and in 
 reflecting on the character which the woman held 
 among her simple neighbours. Was she in reality a 
 maniac, as my father supposed ? or was it blighted 
 hopes or unexpected misfortune that made her seem 
 an enemy to her kind ? Such things had been. I 
 could not suppress a certain feeling of uneasiness as
 
 RUSE DOUGLAS. 67 
 
 every step brought us nearer to her dwelling. Con- 
 sidering the nature of the errand on which we were 
 come, we could not expect a cordial reception ; and, 
 though my curiosity regarding her was still as active 
 as ever, it was with much dread that I calculated the 
 chances of awaking the stern old woman's resentment 
 by our intrusion upon her solitude. It was too late 
 now, however, to think of this ; nor in spite of my 
 fears could I have resolved to allow my father to pro- 
 ceed alone ; so I continued to walk by his side, and 
 confined my apprehensions for the time to my own 
 bosom. 
 
 Looking around me, I secretly acknowledged how 
 appropriate a scene she had chosen for the austere life 
 she led, so separated did it seem from all human 
 neighbourhood. She appeared secure from all intru- 
 sion but that of those agents she was said to employ, 
 and of those who could not interfere with her, the 
 wild but peaceable tribes of nature. So powerful an 
 impression indeed had the loneliness of the scene 
 upon my mind (already excited as it was), that every 
 moment I expected to behold the old woman herself, 
 so much in character did her stern and commanding 
 appearance seem with the objects around us ; and at 
 every withered stump or mossy stone that presented 
 itself I involuntarily started, believing I beheld her. 
 
 The road, or rather path, for it had now nearly 
 dwindled into that, wound in a circuitous direction 
 through the moss. Now it sunk into a hollow, through 
 which a wild and moorland spring wandered on amidst
 
 68 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 a scanty sprinkling of brushwood, and now ascending 
 from the dark bottom, it gave to view the wide and 
 open moor broken into many inequalities, and extend- 
 ing to the bare and purple-looking hills. It was on 
 ascending from one of these hollows, with my thoughts 
 occupied as I have already described, that, casting my 
 eyes forward upon the moor, the rude and neglected 
 walls of the recluse's dwelling became first visible, 
 and, pressing my father's arm, I suddenly paused 
 and exclaimed — Old Christian's cottage, sir ! 
 
 My father also stopped as my movement directed, 
 and we both continued gazing for some moments on 
 the scene before us. The sun was sparkling cheerily 
 upon the hundred little pools which speckled the 
 waste, and far away the faint blue smoke which curled 
 lazily on the air from some humble cottage denoted 
 the presence of man. But the most prominent object 
 in the view, and which was now within a short dis- 
 tance of us, was the solitary dwelling we had come to 
 visit. Before Christian came to it, it had been occu- 
 pied by a shepherd, who watched a farmer's sheep on 
 the hills. The cottage stood with its front to the 
 road, the sun gleaming on the sole window which 
 lighted the interior, and on the moss-grown thatch. It 
 stood on a slight declivity, like that from which we 
 had just ascended, and a small potato-patch, which the 
 inmate herself cultivated, stretched up the slope be- 
 hind. The rays of the sun, however, lent little cheer- 
 fulness to the aspect of the dwelling, which was rude, 
 damp, and miserably ruinous. So wretched and lonely
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 69 
 
 indeed did it seem, that I could scarcely credit that 
 any living thing, especially an old and consequently 
 helpless woman, could exist there. There was a paltry 
 shed attached to the house, beneath which a few peats 
 (her own casting too) were loosely piled. A stone 
 seat was by the door, and resting on it was a small 
 pitcher for carrying water from the neighbouring 
 stream. 
 
 The woman herself was not visible, but as we more 
 nearly approached, and our footsteps had become audi- 
 ble on the rough path, the first sign of actual life 
 appeared in the form of a miserably lean-looking dog 
 which started up from the threshold of the door, to the 
 side-post of which it was tied, and, gazing on us, 
 uttered a long and melancholy howl. There was 
 something plaintive, almost ominous, I thought, in 
 the low cry of the animal echoing over the silent moor ; 
 and while my father continued to walk on, I hung 
 back and hesitated. He, however, was unconscious 
 of my uneasiness, and led the way by the rugged and 
 plashy path to the door of the dwelling. The dog- 
 made no resistance to our near approach. He had 
 again laid himself down on the flag at the threshold, 
 and, with his eyes turned watchfully upon us, seemed 
 to regard us with what I now fancied a wistful and 
 piteous expression. There was no sound from the 
 interior of the cottage, nor any sign of life except this 
 animal : all looked cold, cheerless, and uninhabited. 
 There was even no smoke, at least that I could distin- 
 guish, from the little stick-formed chimney. 1 drew my
 
 70 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 father's attention to this circumstance. " I trust she 
 is not ill," he said ; u it would be very dreadful, as 
 she is alone." 
 
 When my father said this, I suddenly recollected 
 what the men had mentioned the previous day, namely, 
 that she had not been visible since the morning she 
 appeared in the field. That happened on Monday, 
 and this was Thursday. I felt agitated at the thought. 
 We paused for a moment to collect ourselves in front 
 of the house. My father then knocked at the door, 
 which was closed, for admittance. The wretched- 
 looking animal I have described, which, if left there 
 as a guard, was a very insufficient one, now raised 
 himself again, but it seemed with some difficulty, from 
 the ground. It was with no hostile intent however, 
 for, crouching towards our feet, he appeared like us to 
 await an answer to the summons we had made. No 
 answer apparently was to be made. We waited 
 anxiously enough, and timorously enough on my part 
 at least, for some minutes, but all was silent as before. 
 Then my father again rapped, and louder than form- 
 erly, so that any one unless incurably deaf could hear 
 him, and again we paused, listening for approaching 
 footsteps, or some intimation that we might enter. 
 
 " She must be absent from home, Rose," said my 
 father to me, when this second summons produced no 
 response, " or she must be ill, which God forbid." 
 
 The dog seemed to understand our language as we 
 stood conversing at the door, or perhaps our gestures 
 were intelligible to him. He again laid himself down
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 71 
 
 in front of it, and endeavouring to push his nose be- 
 neath it, he uttered another of those long wailing 
 cries which had startled me before, and which super- 
 stition always regards as an evil omen. He had no 
 sooner done so than a faint sound reached our ears 
 from the interior of the cottage. It was very low, 
 but I thought it resembled the groan of one in pain, 
 disturbed perhaps by the noise of the animal. My 
 father's hand was immediately on the latch, and bid- 
 ding me follow him quietly, he gently pushed open the 
 door, which was frail and unfastened by any bolt, and 
 we entered the house. I followed him closely, but 
 with trembling steps, my mind filled with apprehen- 
 sion for the state of the inmate. My former fears 
 were almost forgotten in comparison with my present 
 one. 
 
 On the door being opened, as usual the first thing 
 which presented itself was the narrow and generally 
 disagreeable passage which in our Scotch cottages 
 leads into the inner and commonly (as in this instance) 
 only apartment in the house. It was encumbered 
 with rubbish, pieces of broken wood, mostly sticks 
 picked up here and there for firewood, an old spade 
 and hoe, a broken tub, and various articles of the 
 same kind. The clay floor, for flags are a luxury not 
 always found in such habitations, was miserably damp 
 and dirty. A few potatoes were spread on a little 
 straw at the extreme comer of the passage ; while, as 
 if more forcibly to express the neglect and poverty 
 which in every respect were so conspicuous, there
 
 72 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 yawned directly above the spot on which they were 
 laid a fissure in the roof, through which the heavy 
 rains of the past season must have poured without 
 hindrance. All this I was able to note as we groped 
 our way through the dusky passage towards the door 
 of the woman's apartment. 
 
 The noise we necessarily made on entering awoke 
 no challenge from the interior, and having his appre- 
 hensions of the old woman's illness increased by this 
 strange stillness, my father hastily pushed open the 
 inner door, which was ajar. I followed him closely, 
 indeed clinging to him, and we found ourselves at 
 length in the inner apartment, and stood for some 
 moments the awed and silent spectators of a painful 
 scene. 
 
 The room, into which we had thus intruded our- 
 selves, was damp, dark, and confined. Through the 
 unceiled roof, from which the sod and heather em- 
 ployed to cover it hung as if threatening to fall on 
 our heads, the light of day in many places made its 
 appearance. The very little furniture there was (and 
 which my eye, unaccustomed to the gloom, did not 
 allow me for some minutes to note) was of the very 
 meanest description. The apartment was lighted only 
 by the one small window which fronted us on approach- 
 ing the cottage. Where the glass was absent, and 
 the whole window was nearly in that condition (thanks 
 probably to some mischievous herd-boy who had ven- 
 tured near), the air was simply excluded by means of 
 rags, which, though maintaining warmth in the apart-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 73 
 
 ment, rendered it proportionally gloomy and close. I 
 shrunk back with a feeling of dislike and loathing 
 upon entering. One reason, perhaps, was, that it was 
 a different scene from what I had somehow expected to 
 see. I did not expect to meet with absolute comfort 
 certainly ; but still not the abject misery and suffer- 
 ing which one glance around those bare walls pain- 
 fully conveyed to the mind. The sight struck my 
 heart with a sensation of cruelty and injustice, such 
 as I had never experienced before. I felt sick and 
 faint. No fire was upon the hearth ; the scanty white 
 ashes that lay on it were cold, and might have been 
 so for days ; a sickly and oppressive smell was diffused 
 through the room, which I have heard since called 
 the smell of death. All told a tale of misery and cruel 
 neglect. 
 
 It did not take many minutes to notice these things ; 
 and then we gazed anxiously round the dark hovel in 
 search of the bed. We were standing between it and 
 the fireplace, so that we did not observe it at first. 
 The wood and plaster which covered the back of the 
 bed also formed the wall of the passage by which we 
 had gained admittance. The bed was enclosed by 
 boards, as is the custom in Scotland in poor cottages, 
 and had a sliding door in front. This was at present 
 open, and something like the form of a human being 
 lay stretched within the recess. In another moment, 
 we were made certain of the inmate's presence, probably 
 in consequence of her being disturbed by our appear- 
 ance. As we stood motionless in front of the bed, a
 
 74 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 shadowy figure slowly, and with apparent difficulty, 
 raised itself amidst the gloom of the nook in which it 
 lay, and gazed with a ghastly stare into the apartment. 
 It sunk back almost immediately, however, as if unable 
 for the exertion, and a hollow groan reached our ears. 
 We hastened by one impulse to the bedside. " She is 
 dying, papa," I said in tones of horror. But I was 
 mistaken. The power of utterance, indeed, seemed 
 denied to her ; but the sufferer was sensibly alive to 
 our presence. Her whole body was agitated by some 
 convulsive emotion ; and it was distressing to see the 
 vain attempts she made to raise herself and address 
 us. It was very evident that our observation dis- 
 turbed and annoyed her in no common degree ; but 
 all her efforts to repulse us were vain and impotent. 
 It was awful to look upon her. There she lay, bound 
 as it were hand and foot, with her dull glassy eyes 
 fixed upon our faces, as we bent over her — eyes on 
 which the film of death was evidently gathering : her 
 teeth set, and her long and emaciated fingers pluck- 
 ing wildly at the tattered coverlet, which barely 
 covered her. I gazed on her with horror blended 
 with pity — Was this wretched and forsaken being 
 really dying? 
 
 I looked eagerly round the room in search of some 
 trace of food. I could see nothing. Was it possible 
 there was nothing in the house ? If so, who could 
 tell how long she might have lain there, and been in 
 want of it. I commenced a search. There was some- 
 thing lying on a sunkie, or three-legged stool, which
 
 EOSE DOUGLAS. 75 
 
 stood on the cold hearth, that caught my eye, and 
 which I at first thought might be bread. It was only 
 a half-finished stocking. As I laid it down, I noticed 
 that many of the stitches had been dropped : perhaps 
 while the worker was struggling with the illness which 
 had prostrated her. A few rough shelves, surmount- 
 ing a kind of rude dresser, stood against the wall — 
 two or three plates, and a cracked basin and cup, were 
 upon them, all thickly covered with dust. In the 
 basin I found a single handful of meal. This, with 
 the exception of the mouldy-looking potatoes in the 
 passage, was all the food that I could discover in the 
 house. She was starving, without doubt. What 
 could we do ? How I now regretted that I had omit- 
 ted to take the little basket of cordials with me, which 
 I often carried when I visited the sick poor. I was 
 perplexed what to do. Xo fire, and nothing that I 
 could see to strike a light, so that I could have cooked 
 the meal ; and then the time that must elapse before 
 we could procure assistance ! 
 
 u I can at least give her meal and water," I said to 
 my father. u I can fill the pitcher at the stream." 
 
 u Quick, then, my love ; for one of us, at least, must 
 go immediately for assistance," he said. 
 
 " I hastened to leave the cottage, and, seizing the 
 pitcher, which stood on the stone seat, I ran down to 
 the stream. I filled the little vessel with the spark- 
 ling water, and returned with my burden to the house. 
 If I had not been so occupied with my task, and my 
 thoughts also busily engaged, I might have observed
 
 76 KOSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 the figure of a man coming from the direction opposite 
 to that by which we had approached ; but I did not 
 perceive him. The poor dog I have already mentioned, 
 who had no doubt remained fastened at the door ever 
 since the illness of his mistress, whined piteously in 
 my face as I again drew near him. His look said so 
 plainly, " release me," that, laying down the pitcher 
 for one brief moment, I hastily unfastened the string 
 which confined him. He was scarcely able to creep 
 into the house, which he immediately attempted, how- 
 ever ; and proceeding straight to the bedside, he vainly 
 endeavoured to spring upon it. At length, he laid 
 himself down in front of it, and with his eyes moving 
 from my father to myself, he seemed to watch keenly 
 all our motions. 
 
 During my absence, the sick woman had become 
 less agitated. I poured some water into the cup, and 
 sprinkled some meal upon it. With my father's as- 
 sistance, I then (though with some reluctance) raised 
 her head on my arm, and held the water to her black 
 and parched lips. She swallowed the draught eagerly, 
 with an avidity, indeed, which shocked and startled 
 me. She looked for more. I turned to my father, 
 but he shook his head, and said, " Not yet." I laid 
 her back on her sordid pillow. She then turned her 
 eyes earnestly upon us both. She looked at us for 
 some moments, and then her eye was attracted by a 
 movement of the dog's. She attempted to call him 
 by his name ; but her voice was almost inaudible, and 
 did not reach ihe animal. Thinking it might please
 
 ROSE DOUC4LAS. 77 
 
 her, I lifted him in my arms, and placed him on the 
 bed beside her. He feebly attempted to wag his tail, 
 and to lick the hands which were rigidly extended on 
 the coverlet. It was a last effort of nature ; for he 
 suddenly stretched himself out, and became quiet and 
 motionless. The old woman possessed affection, at 
 least, for one thing. She again raised her sunken 
 hollow eyes to my face, and tried to speak. I stooped 
 down to catch the words. " Give him something," 
 she said in a broken but distinct voice : "he is dying 
 for want of it." I hastened to obey her ; but, on 
 attempting to raise him, I saw it was needless. Want, 
 and perhaps the sudden joy of being restored to his 
 mistress, had completely exhausted his strength ; a 
 slight tremor, hardly perceptible, passed over the limbs 
 for a moment — the poor faithful animal was dead. 
 
 On observing the expression of my countenance, 
 for I was much distressed on her account, the woman 
 drew the dog 'quickly towards her. She gazed long 
 and* wistfully upon it, and lifted one after the other 
 the lifeless paws, which drooped heavily down as she 
 relinquished them. She seemed to forget our pre- 
 sence, and a few large tears slowly trickled down her 
 hollow cheeks, and fell on her dead favourite. But 
 in a few minutes she recollected herself, and gently 
 pushing the body from her, she turned her face to 
 the wall, and drew the covering over it. Some mut- 
 tered words escaped from her, which I could not hear, 
 and then a deep sigh. 
 
 It was now absolutely necessary that either my
 
 78 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 father or myself should go to seek assistance. One 
 must remain with the woman, in common humanity, 
 as it was evident she was in a dying state, — but 
 which was it to be ? My father left me to settle it, 
 and I was hesitating about it, for a certain nervous 
 feeling came over me at the thought of being left 
 alone in such a situation. All the stories I had ever 
 heard of Christian Lindsay came rushing to my re- 
 collection. I thought of the wild moor, the utter 
 loneliness of the spot, whose silence was only broken 
 by the hum of the wild bee, or the chirp of some 
 moorland bird, and the time that must elapse before 
 my watch could be relieved. I had never watched 
 by a deathbed before. My thoughts were in too great a 
 tumult to allow me to make use calmly of my reason ; 
 and the superstitious fears implanted by servants in 
 childhood having been only dormant all this time, not 
 extinguished, began to take possession of me. I stood 
 hesitating then, ashamed to ask my father to remain, 
 and trying to feel what was my duty in the circum- 
 stances, when my eye was suddenly arrested by a 
 shadow hovering in the doorway. I started back, 
 and looked fixedly towards it, to convince myself that 
 I was mistaken. But no, there it was upon the wall 
 of the passage visible enough, occasionally shifting in 
 its position, as the thing or person that caused it was 
 or was not stationary. I had sometimes heard of 
 such things in the country, for they were often a 
 topic of conversation at cottage firesides, as dreadful 
 shapes, and unearthly visitants, being permitted to be
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 79 
 
 present at the deathbeds of the obstinately impeni- 
 tent and desperately wricked. A cold horror seized 
 upon me, and, clinging to my father's arm, I pointed 
 with trembling finger towards the door. 
 
 My father looked where I directed him, with some 
 surprise at my emotion, and also observed the shadow. 
 " Come in, whoever is there," he said ; and presently, 
 in answer to the summons, a grey-haired head, most 
 familiar to us both, first made its appearance, care- 
 fully scratinizing the room, and was presently fol- 
 lowed by the whole person of the bellman ; for it was 
 old William himself. I must confess I drew a deep 
 breath of relief, as he advanced cautiously into the 
 room, his hat in his hand, gazing curiously and ap- 
 prehensively around him every step he made. My 
 father expressed surprise at seeing him here, and 
 William hastened to explain. 
 
 "Ye see, sir," said the bellman, "I have been up 
 at the Eumblingsykes. Wee Merran's ill wi' the 
 measles, and the granny she's sair afflicted wi' the 
 rheumatics. And seeing you and the young leddy 
 coming alang the moor road, as I came owre the bent, 
 I thought I might as weel gang hame by the short 
 cut mysel', — it 's no used muckle noo, sir. And wha 
 kens, said I to mysel', as I came down the brae, but 
 I may be o' some service to them, — it 's no a canny 
 errand they 're gaun on." 
 
 " Well," said my father in answer, " it is fortunate 
 that you have come. You must go immediately, 
 William, to the Sauchiebog (a cluster of houses about
 
 80 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 half a mile off), and send some assistance here, — this 
 poor woman, I fear, is in great distress. My daughter 
 and I will wait till you return." 
 
 " Ay, ay," said the bellman, somewhat surprised 
 at this information, and turning, as my father spoke, 
 his eyes, which had never been at rest since he en- 
 tered, scrutinizingly towards the bed, " and sae she is 
 really o'erta'en at last. Weel, I didna think it would 
 be permitted much langer (he moved nearer the bed, 
 endeavouring to obtain a sight of the form which lay 
 on it). Weel, lucky," he said, " how's a' wi' ye the 
 day? — Hech, sirs ! I think the woman 's gane." 
 
 This exclamation escaped him as, venturing to ad- 
 vance to the bedside that he might obtain a view of 
 the old woman's face, his experience told him that she 
 lay, if not dead, at least in a state of insensibility. I 
 hurried to the bed, being by this time ashamed of my 
 fears, and saw that it was as the bellman said. Wil- 
 liam now busied himself in giving me directions. 
 
 " We maun open the window," he said ; " but it 's 
 a' stuffed wi' clouts, I think (he tore them out, and 
 threw them on the outside). Now, there 's the air 
 coming in, and she '11 sune come to, — the house had 
 the smell o' a dead- vault. That 's right," he conti- 
 nued, as I began to bathe the pale sunken temples ; 
 " but for a' that, she will be a kirkyard job or lang, 
 — or I 'm muckle mista'en." 
 
 My father again reminded him of the imperative 
 necessity of instantly setting off on his errand, and 
 William prepared to depart.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 81 
 
 " I shall gang wi' a' speed, sir," he said, " and lay- 
 out the money as ye say. I have nae doubt the ses- 
 sion will consider the day's wark I will lose. Fare 
 ye weel the now." He then left the cottage, and 
 hurried away on his mission. 
 
 The admission of fresh air into the room, and the 
 water with which I had bathed her face revived the 
 old woman ; but she was evidently sinking, and took 
 no further notice of us. She occasionally moaned, 
 and was restless. I could do nothing more for her till 
 the bellman returned. My father prayed beside her, 
 and we hoped that she understood him ; but I rather 
 fear she was not conscious. I sat down beside the 
 window on a low stool, leaving the only chair in the 
 room for my father's use, and we both continued silent 
 for a long time. 
 
 It is a solemn thing to watch a dying person. The 
 deep-drawn breathing of the sick woman alone inter- 
 rupted the stillness which reigned in the room. My 
 father sat shading his eyes with his hand, absorbed in 
 meditation j while I gazed out upon the bare moor, 
 and thought of many things that I had never so 
 thought of before. I sometimes stole a glance at the 
 bed, but there was no further change. 
 
 There were two old women in the small hamlet of 
 Sauchiebog, who had a trifling allowance made them 
 by the kirk-session, and eked out their living by at- 
 tending any sick person who wanted them. It was 
 for these women my father had despatched William. 
 Neither, he was well aware, would venture alone ; 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 but it was doubtful if the prospect of gain would in- 
 duce them to come at present, even in company. 
 
 At length, after many weary minutes, which had 
 seemed like hours, had passed, our ears were gladdened 
 by the sound of voices and footsteps without, and 
 presently the bellman's sharp countenance appeared 
 at the door, flushed by the haste with which he had 
 performed his errand, while the faces of the two 
 nurses peered dimly behind him, with a half curious, 
 half alarmed expression pourtrayed in both of them. 
 " They are here, sir," said the bellman with an im- 
 portant wave of the hand towards the door, to intimate 
 the presence of those for whom he had been de- 
 spatched. 
 
 " If the minister is sure there is nae fear," said the 
 eldest of the women in a hesitating voice, which, 
 while it expressed anxiety to please, showed also 
 some doubts as to the propriety of the present move- 
 ment. 
 
 " There is none, my good Elspeth," said my father, 
 advancing to meet them and to calm their fears. 
 " There is nothing here but what must happen to us 
 all. As a Christian, I recommend this poor dying 
 creature to your care, — you must not credit the foolish 
 stories that are told of her." He then advanced to 
 the bedside, and spoke kindly and earnestly to the 
 sick woman ; but she was evidently in a kind of 
 stupor, and was probably too ill to observe what was 
 passing around her. He advised the women, one of 
 whom had began to kindle a fire, exclaiming all the
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 83 
 
 time on the want of every necessary thing in the 
 house, to endeavour to get her to swallow some 
 nourishment immediately, and I promised on my re- 
 turn to the manse to despatch a messenger with some 
 cordials. 
 
 The women, however, seemed uneasy as we pre- 
 pared to take our departure, and conferred together 
 in hasty whispers. I began to be afraid that their 
 fears might induce them to desert their post, in spite 
 of my father's injunctions. But at last they took the 
 bellman into their confidence, who, after a show of 
 unwillingness, appeared to acquiesce in some proposal 
 they had made. As we left the house, the old woman 
 who had first addressed us, and who seemed the most 
 experienced, as well as intelligent, of the two nurses, 
 followed us. She stopped us after we had crossed the 
 threshold. 
 
 " And, if ye please, sir," she said, curtsying respect- 
 fully to my father as she spoke, but still showing 
 signs of hesitation in her manner, " what are we to do 
 wi' this auld wife ? Ye ken yerseF she has na a very 
 canny name. Howsever, if it 's your pleasure that 
 Jean and me should bide wi' her a' nicht " 
 
 u It will be a great kindness, indeed, Mrs Bryce. 
 As I said before, you have nothing to fear ; and you 
 may depend upon it that your trouble will not be for- 
 gotten." 
 
 " Aweel, aweel, sir, ye ken we are but puir folk. 
 But I wad do muckle to pleasure you ; and Bellman 
 Willie has promised to bide wi us as lang 's he can,
 
 84 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 sae we maun e'en mak' the best o't. But she 's an 
 awfu' woman to wait on." 
 
 My father repeated his promise of recompense, 
 which seemed to have a cheering effect upon the old 
 nurse, for her countenance somewhat brightened. 
 Bidding her good-day, we walked away. She turned 
 to go into the cottage ; but just as her foot was on the 
 threshold, she suddenly paused and cast a wistful look 
 after us. Some thought had evidently glanced across 
 her mind, for she hurried after us. We turned, with 
 some anxiety, to know what it might be. She came 
 up to us, and laid her hand beseechingly on my 
 father's arm, and looking up in his face, exclaimed, 
 " Oh, sir, pit up a bit prayer for us the nicht ;" then 
 with a relieved mind she hastened back, and we saw 
 her enter the cottage. 
 
 We diverged a little on our way home to call at 
 the doctor's house, to ask him to visit the sick woman. 
 We found him just returned from his morning round, 
 and prepared to sit down with his wife to their dinner ; 
 but he promised that he would start with as little 
 delay as possible for the moor. We then turned 
 homewards. When we reached the manse, I immedi- 
 ately sent off one of the servants with the things I had 
 promised to Mrs Bryce the nurse. 
 
 When Nanny returned from the moor, she brought 
 a message from the nurses that the patient was no 
 better, and that they could not get her to swallow 
 nourishment. William the bellman was still there. 
 
 On the following morning when we came down
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 85 
 
 stairs, we were informed that Eppy Bryce, the nurse, 
 was sitting in the kitchen waiting to see my father. 
 I observed an unusual air of mystery in Nanny's face 
 while she made this communication, but took no notice 
 of it, as my father gave orders to show the woman into 
 the parlour. On being admitted, her countenance at 
 once proclaimed what she had to communicate ; the 
 wretched woman who had met with such sad reverses 
 of fortune, and had so long been the dread and aver- 
 sion of her simple neighbours, was now beyond all 
 human enmity — Christian Lindsay was dead ! She 
 had never fully awoke from the state of stupor in 
 which we left her. The doctor had called to see her 
 during the afternoon ; but the nurse's experience had 
 not deceived her, for, on examining the patient, he 
 had declared her beyond help, and remounting his 
 horse, he rode off without more words. She died near 
 midnight, passing away so quietly that her solitary 
 attendants scarcely knew when she ceased to breathe. 
 " And oh, sir," said the old nurse as she concluded 
 her sad narrative, " it was an eerie thing for Jean and 
 me to be our lanesel's wi' her, and she sic a woman. 
 T was aye fear't for seeing the enemy himsel' beside 
 us, as little doubt he was, though invisible to us. 
 I 'm sure I prayed the Lord that her saul might be 
 reisted frae him. But oh, sir, when we came to 
 dressing out the corp (it 's a sark o' my ain, sir, I was 
 obligated to gang for and to pit upon her) my vera 
 heart was wae. It was a humbling and a sorrowfu' 
 sight. She had na a rag amaist on her back, though
 
 86 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 the best pairt o' her claise was on her, and the vera 
 banes were cuttin' the skin. I 'm fear't, sir," con- 
 tinned the old woman, shaking her head and sinking 
 the tones of her voice as she spoke, — " I dinna like to 
 say it, bnt it 's my ain belief that the pnir creature had 
 little complaint but starvation, and sae I jealouse Dr 
 M'Whirter thought too, for he minted as muckle to me. 
 She was a fellow- crea hire, sir," added the honest 
 nurse, wiping her eyes, " and my heart is heavy about 
 her. But I forget," she continued, — " after her death 
 we found this paper in her bosom. It 's sair rumpled 
 and worn, and we were na athegither sure o' touching 
 it, — it micht be a compact, ye ken, sir, wi' somebody ; 
 but I judged it best to bring it to you ; ye may mak' 
 something o't." 
 
 So saying, she produced from her pocket a dingy 
 piece of paper folded in the manner of a letter, and 
 with a black silk string tied round it. She handed 
 it to my father, and then looked curiously towards it 
 and lingered. My father first examined one side and 
 then the other. He seemed to hesitate about opening 
 it. I was as anxious to know its contents as the 
 nurse could be, and offered him a pair of scissars to cut 
 the string. He took them, severed it, and opened the 
 paper, which was really a letter. 
 
 Reader, what do you think was the letter which 
 this poor, persecuted, half crazed old woman had 
 carried in her bosom ? It was a letter addressed to 
 Christian Lindsay in the days of her youth and pros- 
 perity. It was from one who loved her, and whom it
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 87 
 
 now seemed she had secretly loved in return. Alas ! 
 how her own ambition had probably blighted her happi- 
 ness. It was from the young man who, stung by her 
 apparent coldness , had left his home for the sea, and 
 was written on the evening before the engagement in 
 which he fell ; — as if he foresaw his fate, he sent her 
 his forgiveness and blessing. His words were few, 
 but they were earnest and simple, and must have 
 pierced her heart. It was as a voice from the dead 
 that letter to me ; and oh ! what crowds of strange 
 thoughts and sad reflections did it conjure up. Youth 
 and beauty glided past, and were followed by dark 
 and repulsive forms breathing remorse and misery. 
 I dared not dwell upon them. In neglect, in poverty, 
 and, finally, in death, had the stricken woman cher- 
 ished this memorial of her early years, and none knew 
 the remorse and anguish that w T ere probably concealed 
 under an appearance of coldness and misanthropy. 
 
 And this ended the witch's story. As Eppy Bryce 
 said, "the paper was nae contract wi' the deil after a', 
 and she daured to say the minister was in the right." 
 However, the country - people would never be per- 
 suaded to the contrary. And at this very day, the 
 spot on which her lonely dwelling stood is still held in 
 dislike, and is called the Witch's Knowe. 
 
 On entering the kitchen during the same afternoon 
 to give some orders, I found the servant-girls much 
 excited. The younger nurse, a woman of a weak 
 superstitious mind, had called at the manse during the 
 forenoon. Prejudiced against the person she was en-
 
 88 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 gaged to attend, the deathbed of the sufferer had to 
 her been surrounded by unnatural portents and signs 
 strange and fearful. These had all been communi- 
 cated to her eager and horror-struck listeners, who, 
 with heads huddled together, and speaking in whispers 
 as if afraid of the sound of their own voices, had ne- 
 glected their work to listen to the revelations of the 
 old sibyl. They were now by themselves, and con- 
 ferring so earnestly on what they had heard, that my 
 entrance was for some minutes unobserved. 
 
 " She has had a fearsome end," said Nanny, the 
 youngest of the two girls ; " nae wonder the lowe 
 burnt blue a' nicht, as Jean Jaup says it did, and 
 that she aye felt as if there was something awfu' ahint 
 her back, and sae daur't na look round. Gude safe 
 us ! if it disna make ane's flesh grew just to think o't. 
 
 " Deed does 't," said Peggy in turn ; " and to think 
 o 1 Bellman Willie — weary on him — leavin' the puir 
 bodies to their lanesels after promising to bide the 
 nicht, — ane wad think he was use't to sic sichts ; but 
 I'se warrant he was fear't as weel as ithers. I wonder 
 Jean didna gang hame hersel'. I ken I wadna hae 
 staid for half the parish." 
 
 I now inquired if they knew when the corpse was 
 to be buried. " Ou aye," Nanny immediately re- 
 plied, " Willie the bellman had already got orders 
 frae the minister and some o' the session to houk her 
 grave — a dyke-side was guid eneuch for sic folk — 
 and she was to be buried the morn's afternoon. 11 
 
 T was also informed that the cottage which con-
 
 RUSE DOUGLAS. 89 
 
 tained the dead body was at present shut up. It had 
 been immediately deserted after the hurried dressing 
 of the corpse. Xo one would remain in it ; so the 
 house containing its ghastly tenant was left undis- 
 turbed till the funeral. How fearful was the solitude 
 of the moor that night, with its solitary dwelling and 
 dead inhabitant ! It haunted me in my sleep. 
 
 In the evening, knowing that old William must be 
 engaged at the grave, I strolled over into the church- 
 yard. I occasionally did this when I knew him to be 
 there, as I liked to listen to his quaint remarks. I 
 had not seen him since we had left him the previous 
 day at the cottage. On pushing open the gate, which 
 the old man had left unfastened till his labour for the 
 night was over, I at first could see no appearance of 
 him. The sound of his mattock, however, with which 
 he was breaking up the earth, was not to be mistaken, 
 and guided by it, I at last observed in a remote nook 
 his well known coat suspended over a tombstone, 
 while his constant companion, the dog, kept watch 
 beside it. Advancing nearer, I saw the old sexton's 
 head making itself occasionally visible above the 
 surface of the grave, which seemed now nearly com- 
 pleted. The terrier pricked up his ears as I ap- 
 proached, and uttered a low growl of dissatisfaction ; 
 but he was familiar with my appearance, and I did 
 not dread him like others. The old man looked up 
 and recognised his visiter. He greeted me with a 
 formal nod, but continued his labours as if they did 
 not admit of interruption. Accustomed to his humour,
 
 90 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 I stood quietly beside him contemplating the pit he 
 had dug, well aware he would soon weary of remain- 
 ing silent. In the meantime I looked around me. 
 
 The spot selected for the grave of Christian Lindsay 
 was in a portion of the churchyard set apart for the 
 burying of strangers or those paupers who had no 
 family burying-ground. There were few graves within 
 it. It was a neglected part of the churchyard. Long 
 rank grass and nettles mostly covered it ; and the 
 earth seemed dark and damp. Occasionally the 
 sexton paused from his more severe labour of breaking 
 up the soil to ladle out the water which began to fill 
 the grave. It was a repulsive sight; but William 
 seemed indifferent to it. He laid down the spade 
 and seized the rusty can he used for the purpose, and 
 again resumed his spade with his usual coolness. A 
 few old trees stretched their huge and unsightly roots 
 around, and threw a gloom over the desolate spot. 
 It lay also in the shadoAV of the wall, so that sunshine 
 seldom visited it ; and it looked a fitting resting-place 
 for the shunned and the friendless to lie in. It was 
 a place where no one could expect to see a mourner. 
 
 " It 's ten years," said the bellman, at length break- 
 ing the silence, " since I dug a grave in this corner. 
 The first of a' was for silly Will, the puir thing that 
 use't to gang through the kintra selling prins and 
 needles, and sic like — ye'll no mind him. He sick- 
 ened in Tammas Steel's barn, whaur he was allowed 
 a pickle strae, and at last died. We were a' vext for 
 Will, puir fallow. Ay, and there 's a bit o' him
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 91 
 
 enoo," said he, interrupting himself and stooping in 
 the grave ; u I was sure I was trenching owre near to 
 his lair ; but, ye see, there was nae stane to mark it, 
 and the graves they wull sink wi' time. It 's twenty 
 years since he was laid here. Weel, he '11 no quarrel 
 wi 1 wha 's to be his neebour — na, na, death ends a'." 
 
 I drew back hastily, and with a shudder, from the 
 unsightly object which he carelessly tossed upon the 
 heap of loose earth beside me. The bellman con- 
 tinued — " I was thinkin'," said he, leaning upon his 
 spade and falling into a moralizing vein, " before you 
 cam', what a queer thing death is. Mony a ane that 
 I hae seen laid in this vera kirkyard, ay, and help't 
 mysel' to pit them there — some too in this vera spot 
 whaur we 're standin', do I mind, young, stout, and 
 as if they wad wear for ever. Weel, weel, it 's a 
 lesson to us a' to be ready, and no to slumber as 
 the fulish virgins did. Huz folk see mony queer 
 things." 
 
 " You must, indeed, have seen many changes, Wil- 
 liam," I said; "but will you tell me why you dig 
 Christian's grave here. I thought the Lindsays were 
 buried close to the church." " And sae they are ; but 
 wha 's gaun to lay her by her decent kindred ! Besides, 
 the gudeman at the Overtoun, her faither's auld farm, 
 has a bairn buried there, and he '11 no hear o't, for he 
 says it 's his lair. She '11 do vera weel here. But we 
 were talking aboot changes — ay, it 's an unsettled 
 world this. I sometimes sit by my bit fire at nicht, 
 and think on a' the things and folk that I hae kent
 
 92 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 since I was a haltlins callant, till my vera heart seems 
 to grew. 
 
 " I can understand your feelings," I said; "you more 
 than any one in the parish must be aware of the uncer- 
 tainty of life." 
 
 " Ay, ye may say that," replied the old man, still 
 pausing from his work and leaning on his spade. 
 " It's noo three and thretty year sin I got the kirk- 
 yard, and mony a ane hae I kent come into the warld 
 in that time, and mony a ane hae I laid in the grund. 
 I was here before your faither himsel', woman. — 
 Weel do I mind his placing. Auld Peter Pirnie, the 
 Deepholes weaver, wha was elder at that time — yon's 
 his grave yonder awa wi' the muckle headstane — and 
 had been sae lang under Mr Drone, the former minis- 
 ter, use't to say, that it was a blessing to the people his 
 coming, for that vera year there was a harvest gathered 
 in, the like of whilk for abundance hadna been seen 
 in the memory o' man : Peter use't to look on it as a 
 spiritual sign of the rich fruits we were to draw frae 
 his ministry ; and truly, in Mr Drone's time, the sauls 
 of the people were in a manner fasting, for he was - a 
 cauld, thowless preacher, and gied them naething but 
 scraps o' fizzenless morality which led to little profit. 
 But your faither' s succession brought new light to us, 
 and wrought a change." 
 
 Afraid that William was about to enlarge upon his 
 favourite subject, the one at least on which he fondly 
 thought he displayed most learning, I hastily avoided 
 the dangerous topic, by alluding to our meeting at
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 93 
 
 Christian Lindsay's cottage on the previous day, and 
 asked what had been his serious opinion of the 
 woman. 
 
 " What did I tak her to be ! " he exclaimed in a 
 loud voice, and looking up in my face with astonish- 
 ment and pity, at my simplicity, I suppose. " What 
 suld I tak her to be but ane o' those o' whom Scrip- 
 ture saith, Thou shalt not suffer them to live, Exodus 
 twenty-second and aughteenth verse," (William prided 
 himself on his memory and knowledge of the Scrip- 
 tures). " Mair by token, gin she had only leeved a 
 hunder year back she wad hae gotten a tar-barrel to 
 her tail, and muckle gude wad it hae done her — the 
 grewsome carline." 
 
 " So you really think she was a witch ? " I said. 
 " I do not, William." 
 
 William made no answer to this, beyond mutter- 
 ing something about " women and bairns," which I 
 rather think was not complimentary, but which I 
 took of course no notice of. He now relapsed into 
 silence, and worked away with renewed energy at the 
 grave, which had been at a stand-still during our con- 
 versation. He continued thus for a short time, but at 
 length, evidently wearying of his task, he collected his 
 tools, which he threw out upon the heap, and then 
 scrambling out of the grave — " I may stop noo," he 
 muttered slowly, but not as addressing me ; " ony 
 wee bit mair enlargement that may be needed can as 
 weel be dune the morn ; — it 's ill to stress man or 
 beast."
 
 94 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 He went to where his coat lay, and while putting 
 it on he glanced his eye at me. I saw he had still no 
 objections to be questioned, for all his haste. 
 
 " Come, William," I said, " all the parish know you 
 to be a wise man." (The bellman's rigid muscles began 
 to relax.) " I should like to know your real candid 
 opinion of this woman, and what are your reasons for 
 thinking her a witch — witchcraft, you know, is out 
 of date. Such a learned man as you are said to be 
 must have a good reason for what you say." 
 
 " Ahem," coughed the sexton, gratified by this 
 compliment to the abilities which he rated so highly, 
 but endeavouring to conceal it under a deeper shade 
 of formality than usual. " Ahem, what you say may 
 be vera true, vera true indeed — I '11 no deny but I 
 hae a faculty o' lookin' into things as weel as my 
 neebours. But, — ahem." 
 
 " You thought her a witch then indeed," I said 
 somewhat impatiently. 
 
 " Hout, ay," said the bellman evasively, for he was 
 not quite ready for this call on his reasons, having in 
 truth none at all to give, unless determined prejudices 
 may be counted as such, — " that is, a sort o' witch. 
 Bad eneuch, bad eneuch ; — but there 's ane could tell 
 ye mair aboot her than me." 
 
 " And who may that be?" I inquired eagerly, in- 
 terested in this intelligence. 
 
 " Hout," said the bellman, who was now perfectly 
 communicative, u wha suld it be but Gibby Galloway, 
 the laird's gamekeeper. He was herd-callant at her
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 95 
 
 Gutter's ain farm mony a year, and kent baith her 
 and her folk langsyne. She was a braw lass in thae 
 days by a' accounts. But what 's beauty but a fading 
 flower, — and she was unco for pride, whilk however 
 hath had a fa'. It was Gibby that fand her oot when 
 she cam back to the parish, and little she thank't him 
 for 't, he has telt me. He could tell mony queer 
 stories aboot her, that could he, and especially aboot 
 ae joe she had that she often met at a place in the 
 muir where three stanes stami, — ye '11 ken the place. 
 (I nodded.) Gibby used to watch them there frae 
 amang the heather ; but their last meetin' was an 
 angry ane, and the lad went to sea direct after and 
 was killed. The lass never looked the same after 't, 
 he said, and then cam' her faither's misfortunes. I 'm 
 jealousin' that after a' she 's had her ain weird. And 
 muckle mair, I doubtna, could Gibby hae telt me 
 aboot her ; but he 's a close chield, and it 's puing wi' 
 rapes to get ony thing oot o' him ava." 
 
 " And did he suppose her what people say? — 
 Where is the gamekeeper to be seen ? " I asked. 
 
 u Ae question at ance, — he thocht her nae better 
 than she should be, I tell ye, though he seemed to 
 hae a kind o' compassion for her too. Whaur is he — 
 he 's far awa by this time, I reckon — he 's awa to 
 anither situation wi' some grand laird or yerl in the 
 north — I kenna what they ca' him. But I convoyed 
 Gibby a bit mysel 1 this morning, or I micht ne'er hae 
 heard o't." 
 
 " But did he never speak to you of her before? " I
 
 9b* ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 asked. " I should like to know what he remembers of 
 her young days, — poor changed woman !" 
 
 " Oh," replied the bellman, " thae unsettled chields, 
 moving aften frae ae place to anither, hae muckle mair 
 to divert their memories than huz quiet folk that are 
 content to bide at hame. It 's weel kent too that a 
 close mouth catches nae fleas. Forby that, I could 
 guess frae Gibby's manner" — Here he suddenly in- 
 terrupted himself (Touzy having roused his attention) 
 and turned hastily round. 
 
 " Ye little, gude for naething, mischievous black- 
 guard, that I should say sae," he exclaimed to my sur- 
 prise, irritated apparently out of his usual propriety, 
 " I'll learn ye to come creepin' that gate to meddle 
 wi' my things — weans are a perfect abomination in 
 the matter o' mischief. Wha's audit ye, callant — 
 what brought ye here?" he demanded, shaking a 
 little boy of six years old by the collar of his ragged 
 jacket. William, in spite of Touzy's protection, was 
 often visited at his work in the churchyard by the 
 village children, who sometimes hid his tools, and 
 amused themselves by otherwise tormenting him. 
 Only a few days before, some of the school children 
 after their dismissal had wandered down to the church- 
 yard, and aimed slight missiles at him and Touzy from 
 the summit of the wall, where the dog of course could 
 not reach them. All this was in William's recollec- 
 tion, as he shook the intruder repeatedly — Touzy 
 meanwhile standing at bay, as the boy was held by 
 his master.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 97 
 
 " What is 't ye want?" he again inquired in the 
 same tone. 
 
 " Naething," answered the trembling captive half 
 crying, for William's office of beadle gave him a 
 position of awful authority among the more youthful 
 parishioners, and his present aspect was not encourag- 
 ing. 
 
 " Naething ! W T hat are ye — what 's your name?" 
 
 " Jock," answered the terrified prisoner. 
 
 " And wha do ye belang to, sir? Tell the truth." 
 
 " I 'm Peggy Tamson's laddie." (Whimper.) 
 
 " And what took ye here, Jock — eh ? If ye come 
 here ony mair, mind, if I dinna pit ye intil that hole, 
 and see what '11 come o' ye than," pointing sternly to 
 the open grave as he spoke. 
 
 " It was my mither that sent me," blubbered 
 the awestruck intruder, upon whom this formidable 
 threat seemed to make a deep impression. 
 
 u Did your mither bid you come here, sir, and work 
 mischief? " demanded the angry man of spades and 
 mattocks. 
 
 " Na — she telt me to gang to the kirkyard, and — 
 and say, ye were wanted at — at hame." The sexton 
 whistled. 
 
 " At hame ! — ou, that 'a anither affair — anither 
 death, I suppose. I heard Johnny Bell wasna likely 
 to pit owre. — Weel, gang awa back to your mither, 
 like a gude laddie, and say that I 'm just comin', and 
 dinna come near the kirkyard ony mair." 
 
 So saying, he dismissed the little urchin, who had 
 VOL. I. <*
 
 98 RUSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 trotted a mile to do him this service without even thanks. 
 The boy wiped his eyes with his knuckles, and gladly 
 hastened off, turning often round, however, to look at 
 the scene of his late alarm. Touzy, as in duty bound, 
 attended him to the gate, and having there indulged 
 in a parting explosion which induced the boy suddenly 
 to take to his heels, trotted quietly back again to wait 
 upon his master. William hastily deposited his tools 
 in the porch of the church where he kept them, care- 
 fully locking the door after having done so. I bade 
 him good night, and turned homewards, amused by 
 his eccentricities, and deeply regretting the departure 
 of Gibby Galloway. 
 
 It was a beautiful afternoon on which Christian 
 Lindsay was buried. I was standing near the gate 
 when I discerned at some distance the little band of 
 attendants — I cannot call them mourners — with my 
 father at their head, winding down the road. Owing 
 to the distance of the cottage from the churchyard, 
 the coffin was conveyed in a cart. Occasionally some 
 bend in the road hid them from my view; then they 
 would appear again moving beneath the drooping 
 branches of the trees, which seemed- to wave sadly over 
 them : they drew nearer and nearer, and now the dull 
 measured sound of their tread was mixed with the 
 rumbling of the cart. They were six in number, 
 including my father. They were the elders of the 
 parish : no one else would undertake the duty, so it 
 devolved upon them. They approached solemnly 
 and decently. No careless glances or whispered re-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 99 
 
 marks broke the solemnity which the presence of the 
 dead imposed — all was quiet and orderly. Their steps 
 were slow and feeble, for the. distance was consider- 
 able, and some of them were aged men. I thought, as 
 I gazed on them, that some of them would probably 
 erelong be borne on the same path. But how dif- 
 ferent would be the procession — how different the 
 feelings from those which influenced the attendants of 
 Christian Lindsay to her long home ! Children, af- 
 fectionate relatives, mourning friends, would doubtless 
 be there — children sorrowing for the parent they had 
 lost — brothers, for the brother with whom they had 
 grown old, and whose heart was knit to theirs — and 
 friends, for the kind and trusting companion. Alas ! 
 here was one, once the loved and the cherished of 
 many, (who could read her past history, or weigh her 
 motives ?) without a friend to shed a tear over her, or 
 a kindred hand to smooth the sod above her head. 
 Her existence had been a sorrowful blank for many 
 years. As for the never-dying soul, where was it 
 now ? I checked myself in my judgment, — that was 
 known only to her God. 
 
 Unpitied and uncared for, the grave was her best 
 resting-place, though a stranger's hand laid her there ; 
 for there the weary and the broken-hearted might 
 rest and be forgotten. My heart swelled within me, as 
 image after image of desolation presented themselves 
 to my mind. Whatever may have been her faults — 
 crimes perhaps, I cried — surely even in this life she
 
 100 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 has suffered bitterly for them. Oh ! God, let me not 
 die alone or unregretted. 
 
 I continued to gaze on the little mournful proces- 
 sion till it passed me. The churchyard gate stood 
 open. The coffin was lifted out of the cart, covered 
 with the parish mortcloth, and they then entered and 
 moved slowly down the path. Old William was in 
 attendance. I advanced close to the wall of the 
 churchyard, from whence I had a distinct view of the 
 grave which was yawning for its tenant, and of the 
 group which was approaching it. The mortcloth was 
 removed when they reached it, and the plain black 
 coffin exposed to view. Slowly and silently was it 
 lowered : then came the dull rattling of the clods, that 
 sound which all have felt ; the mute act of reverence 
 which seems to bid farewell for ever to the unconsci- 
 ous dust ; the mourners turned to depart, like men 
 glad that their task was accomplished ; and William 
 was left alone to his duty in the churchyard. My 
 father and the elders joined me, and we all went into 
 the manse. 
 
 So ended the history of her, who was first the 
 beauty of the parish, and latterly the hated, shunned, 
 and suspected Witch. Not even a rude stone marks 
 the grave where Christian Lindsay sleeps. Some say 
 that the curse of her lover's parents clung to her ; 
 but the curse at least of a proud, unsubdued, resentful 
 nature did. But we will let the dead rest.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 101 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A COUNTRY DOCTOR. 
 
 About two miles from the manse, close to the public 
 road, was a small neat two-storied house, situated in 
 the midst of a well-kept garden, with a field adjoin- 
 ing it. A little green gate, and a gravelled path, 
 bordered on each side with a sweetbriar hedge, be- 
 longed to it. Everything was in high order about 
 the place. The pipes on the walls, and the barrels 
 for receiving the water which ran from them, were 
 freshly painted ; the door was a bright green, and the 
 little brass knocker shone like gold. Not a weed 
 disgraced the flower and vegetable beds. The inte- 
 rior of the house was quite as orderly, — no spot was 
 ever seen on the white-washed lobby or staircase ; 
 dust was a thing unknown there, even in the darkest 
 corners ; and the kitchen, with its tins and saucepans, 
 was as bright as a furnishing ironmonger's shop. It 
 was evident, at a glance, that children were strangers 
 there. 
 
 It would have puzzled a traveller to decide who the 
 owner of this neat little place might be. It was too
 
 102 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 small to belong to the gentry, too trim and orderly 
 to be the property of a mere laird ; so it was generally 
 supposed by strangers to be the manse, though the 
 church was not in its neighbourhood. A minute's 
 introduction into the interior would have set all right. 
 In spite of the extreme cleanliness which reigned 
 around, a peculiar and most unpleasant odour was 
 always to be discerned. It was a smell of medicines. 
 Of course it was the house of the parish surgeon. 
 
 We had never possessed a medical man of our 
 own till a few years before I grew up. When ill- 
 ness occurred, some surgeon, miles off, had to be 
 summoned, which occasioned both trouble and delay. 
 All felt it therefore a satisfactory thing, when a 
 stranger appeared, announcing his profession, and 
 willing, if proper encouragement was given, to settle 
 among us. At first he rented a room in one of 
 the largest cottages, where he had attendance in a 
 rough kind of way. Some at the commencement 
 were doubtful about changing their doctor ; but per- 
 severance, and a few successful cures, gradually estab- 
 lished the reputation of our Esculapius, and his prac- 
 tice rapidly increased. He purchased a horse (a 
 clumsy-looking animal it was), and began to talk of 
 a house. But the doctor (as he was called, though 
 he had no diploma as yet) was prudent, and did not 
 hurry himself. He knew that the simple proposal of 
 such a thing placed him in a favourable light, and 
 showed that his circumstances were improving. He - 
 was aware that the effect of such hints upon his
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 103 
 
 neighbours would be an increase of respect and con- 
 fidence towards him. So it proved. The gossips, 
 however, began to scrutinize the parish for a house 
 to suit the doctor, and (not to lose time) for a 
 wife also. The latter, however, was much easier to 
 find than the former, for there were no houses to 
 let that they could at all consider suitable ; but there 
 was more than one young woman for the doctor to 
 select. They might have let the doctor's affairs alone 
 with all safety, — he knew what he was about. 
 
 In his rides about the country, he had gradually 
 made himself acquainted with the family history and 
 circumstances of all within his range. He was a cal- 
 culating and prudent man. While he joked with the 
 lairds and farmers, and had a grim smile ready for 
 their bustling wives, he always looked askance on 
 their rosy-cheeked but portionless daughters. The 
 doctor, since business had prospered, had increased in 
 self-consequence, and, moreover, had a constitutional 
 suspicion of women, at least of the young and lively 
 ones. He felt embarrassed and awkward also in 
 their company. He was not a young man, neither 
 was he a talkative man ; on the contrary, he was 
 grave and taciturn. He was not aware of his own 
 imperfections, — if he had, his mind might have been 
 at rest as to the chances of his being inveigled into a 
 match. He had a tall, gaunt figure, big and bony. 
 He was besides deeply pitted with the small-pox, 
 and his hands and feet were of an enormous size. 
 He was altogether most uncouth, and the tones of his
 
 104 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 voice were in unison with his person, loud, coarse, 
 and highly accented. Seeing him jogging slowly 
 along the rough moorland road, or swaying backwards 
 and forwards on horseback, as the animal descended 
 one of the hilly paths from some farmhouse where he 
 had been visiting, he seemed one of the most unlikely 
 persons on earth to attract a woman's eye, — so stiff, 
 formal, and ungraceful he looked. To be sure he was 
 prospering in life. He had already as much practice 
 as he could attend to, — even the gentry called him 
 in, — and perhaps some might forget the man's un- 
 gainliness in the prospect of a comfortable settlement. 
 If any did, however, the doctor was not for them. 
 
 He was accustomed every day to pass in his rides, 
 sometimes more than once, the neat snug house I 
 have described. It was a place just to the doctor's 
 taste. It was spruce and handsome, and had such a 
 fine exposure. Everything about it, too, was so or- 
 derly and respectable. The doctor secretly sighed 
 for the possession of it. His admiration increased 
 gradually to such an extent that, at length, if his 
 business for the day did not lead to pass the gate, 
 he would make a circuit for the purpose. No one 
 suspected the doctor's thoughts. 
 
 Now, the owner of this desirable property was a 
 middle-aged — to speak correctly, I should say elderly 
 spinster. She had inherited it from her father, a re- 
 tired grocer of some wealth, who had purchased a 
 little land in his native parish at a low rate, and built 
 a house upon it. It was a handsome respectable
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 105 
 
 house, as I have said ; and there he and his daugh- 
 ter Miss Babby had lived for many years. It was 
 strange that, being a kind of heiress, she was suffered to 
 remain so long unmarried. But Babby had her own 
 share of pride, and thought few entitled to address 
 her. Besides, Babby, like our friend the doctor, was 
 remarkably unprepossessing in her person. Her figure 
 was lanky and angular, — more masculine than femi- 
 nine in its outlines. Her features were very plain, 
 and no one could overlook the appearance of a beard. 
 She had long taken to wearing caps and a front, 
 even before the doctor came to the parish ; but nobody 
 knew exactly the date of her age, as she was born 
 during her father's residence in Glasgow. In addi- 
 tion to all these, it must be confessed, serious draw- 
 backs, she was accustomed to take snuff, and was of 
 a peevish, avaricious disposition. Her father had 
 been dead for several years, and Babby had succeeded 
 to all the property, including a handsome sum of 
 money lent out on good interest, and on the best 
 security. She was an independent, nay more, a rich 
 woman. But what was the good of her wealth, as 
 her neighbours said, when it was hoarded up, and 
 never put to use ? The poor were never the better for 
 it, for her only charity simply amounted to the put- 
 ting a halfpenny in the church plate on Sabbath, when, 
 dressed in her invariable black silk manteau, she sailed 
 majestically into the porch. She kept one servant to 
 wait upon her, and occasionally employed a man to 
 work in the garden. There was no rest for Miss
 
 106 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 Babby's servants. She herself was as active as a bee, 
 and had a constitution that seemed to defy weariness. 
 She was up early and late poking into corners, and 
 detecting dirt in places which no one else could see. 
 Her house was the picture of freshness and order. 
 You smelt black soap and bees-wax, call when you 
 might, — she was always cleaning. When the servant 
 was not employed with this, she was busy in the gar- 
 den. At little expense Miss Babby kept her walks 
 and plots free from weeds. She herself used often to 
 labour there, attired in an old battered black silk 
 bonnet, and a pair of coarse gloves which had been 
 her father's. She kept a cow also, and the milk and 
 butter she did not herself use she sold to the poor, or 
 sent, at least the latter, by her servant to town. The 
 things I have mentioned were not the worst of Miss 
 Babby, for she not only worked her servant to death, 
 and quarrelled with her constantly, but she grudged 
 her her victuals. However, she did the same to her- 
 self. The people said she counted out the potatoes, 
 and measured the meal ; but that I will not answer 
 for. She had enough of faults without that. 
 
 It was on this spinster and her comfortable pro- 
 perty that our calculating doctor's regards were 
 fixed. While he left unheeded the younger and more 
 blooming portion of the neighbourhood, he was warmly 
 attracted by the evidences of wealth which surrounded 
 Miss Babby. They threw a halo round her, which 
 not all the beauty on earth could have presented to 
 the doctor's imagination. But what prospect had lie
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 107 
 
 of ever being connected with them ? There seemed 
 little in reality. Miss Babby seldom mixed in society, 
 except when she shut up her house for a few days 
 ever}' year, and went to pay a visit to some of her 
 mother's relations in her native town. She was also 
 shy of new acquaintances ; and though the doctor 
 occasionally saw her, in his journeys past her gate, it 
 was in such a fleeting manner, that he had barely 
 time to lift his hat and politely (at least as politely as 
 he could) salute her. She herself did not seem to 
 covet his further intimacy, — and she was never ill. 
 There would have been some chance if this had taken 
 place ; for a medical man attending upon a patient has 
 good opportunities, if he can avail himself of them, 
 while the heart is softened by sickness, and perhaps 
 filled with a sort of gratitude to himself. The case was 
 hopeless. Even Miss Babby's servant never com- 
 plained of illness, — that indeed would have been tan- 
 tamount to an instant dismissal. But our doctor did 
 not despair. 
 
 At last his patience was rewarded. Miss Babby, 
 for the second time in her life (the first was at her 
 birth), required a doctor. She had missed a foot in 
 descending a ladder in one of her outhouses, where 
 she had been looking for eggs, and had fractured her 
 leg. Her terrified servant, having in vain attempted 
 to lift her, and shocked at the groans which the 
 movement produced, hurried away in search of the 
 doctor. His lodging was fortunately not far off. She 
 burst into his room, breathless and overcome, where
 
 108 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 he was sitting, — his rounds for the day over, — pre- 
 pared to enjoy himself over his tea. The tray was 
 before him, and he was just sugaring his first cup. 
 The doctor stared at the intruder, whom he hardly 
 knew. 
 
 " Come awa, come awa, doctor ! " she exclaimed. 
 " For God's sake dinna sit glowrin' there — Miss 
 Babby 's faun frae a ladder, and, as sure 's death, I 
 think she 's killed." 
 
 The doctor was up and off in a minute. The op- 
 portunity was at last come which he had so long 
 looked for. I need not say he congratulated himself. 
 
 The courtship began from that day. Miss Babby's 
 leg was slow of mending; at least the doctor was 
 very cautious in allowing her to make use of it soon. 
 He found it necessary, also, often to examine its pro- 
 gress ; and what more natural than the doctor's con- 
 stant anxiety to know how his patient was getting on ? 
 Miss Babby might have demurred to this, if the 
 vision of a forthcoming bill had been before her eyes ; 
 but happily her medical attendant had early relieved 
 her apprehensions by attributing his visits to friend- 
 ship. She had no objections to take advantage of his 
 skill on this understanding ; and confined to her hair- 
 cloth sofa, unable to look after her house affairs, with 
 no employment beyond questioning and scolding her 
 servant twenty times in an hour, she soon wearied for 
 his visits, as a relief to the unvarying sameness of the 
 day. She began to watch for him, and to wonder if 
 he delayed his coming a few minutes after his cus-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 109 
 
 tomary hour. She would also sometimes ask him to 
 drink tea and spend the evening, — all which were 
 promising for him. The doctor proceeded slowly, 
 but surely. His refusal of payment had been a great 
 point in his favour. It showed, moreover, that he 
 could afford to lose money, — an important matter in 
 her calculations. He roused himself, too, to amuse 
 her, and carefully treasured all the news he could 
 gather in his rounds for her ear. He was not a hand- 
 some man, as I have already said ; but she began, 
 erelong, to think his swarthiness comely and manly- 
 like. Miss Babby was well aware, however, of what 
 she was about. She early detected his object. 
 Women, even the oldest and most unlikely, are sel- 
 dom blind to such demonstrations as the doctor's. 
 Of course they were not very refined, — they suited 
 her best as they were. It must have been amusing 
 to watch the courtship of this uncouth couple: she 
 grim in her condescension, and he most unlover-like in 
 his assiduities. It was the mirth of the neighbour- 
 hood; for the doctor's frequent visits, even when 
 Miss Babby became convalescent, were too marked to 
 escape observation. He was watched going and com- 
 ing. But it was not long before the doctor answered 
 the jokes and hints of his neighbours with so know- 
 ing an air, that suspicion began to change into cer- 
 tainty. Miss Babby had surrendered. She had 
 weighed things well. She had felt very lonely during 
 her illness, and she had experienced the comfort of 
 companionship. Confinement, too, had somewhat
 
 110 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 quieted her activity, and changed the current of her 
 ideas. She was flattered also by the doctor's atten- 
 tions, and thought him a very clever man, which, I 
 believe, he really was in his profession. But she 
 loved independence, and was, moreover, dubious of 
 his means. A hint of this brought them both to 
 terms. She understood that the doctor had some 
 little patrimony, — not much, but not to be slighted 
 hastily. But his receipts for the year settled the 
 matter. Miss Babby Stevenson became six months 
 after the accident Mrs Dr M'Whirter. 
 
 They were married by my father in her own parlour, 
 and the loving pair immediately afterwards departed 
 in a post-chaise, which was hired from Lanark, for a 
 tour, which extended two days. They returned on 
 the third, and, without more ado, settled themselves 
 down in the bride's house, to which the doctor's 
 chattels were conveyed. 
 
 Mrs M'Whirter was much the same person as Miss 
 Babby had been: her housekeeping was not much 
 changed. She still kept but one servant, and as there 
 was but little chance of the happy pair being blessed 
 with offspring, their establishment was not likely to 
 increase. A one-stalled stable was added to the pre- 
 mises for the doctor's horse, and a back entrance 
 made that he might ride up to the same, and a proud 
 man was the doctor to call that house and stable his 
 own. The king of ancient Babylon, as he gazed 
 from his palace-roof upon the gorgeous city, rich with 
 the spoils of old barbaric magnificence, was not more
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. Ill 
 
 inflated with pride than was our worthy doctor, as 
 he viewed the long-coveted domain. His seat w T as 
 firmer on horseback, his outward man seemed abso- 
 lutely beautified with perfect content. To be sure Miss 
 Babby (I beg her pardon, Mrs M'Whirter) had not 
 laid aside her old propensities when she changed her 
 name. She had still the same love of cleanliness and 
 order, and both the doctor and his horse improved 
 under her management. She brushed and smartened 
 the one, and her vigilant eye superintended the curry- 
 ing of the other. 
 
 One thing there was which required long use to re- 
 concile her to : this was the smell inseparable from the 
 doctor's profession. A closet had to be given up to 
 accommodate the drugs, and she took care that it 
 was as remote as possible ; but still there was no 
 evading the smell. The opening of the door made her 
 as sick as Bluebeard's wife. And yet within three 
 months, so ardent w T as her love of management, and 
 so keen her desire for gain, that she herself learnt to 
 weigh out and to sell the medicines. The people 
 said she cheated them. 
 
 I believe the late Miss Babby was well enough 
 pleased with the change she had made. She still 
 possessed as much power as formerly (she took care 
 by the bye to have all securely settled upon herself, so 
 that her husband could touch nothing of her means), 
 and she had another inmate to manage. She was 
 secretly proud of her married position, and liked to 
 hear herself called Mrs M' Whirter. She was flattered
 
 112 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 too with the doctor's popularity ; and fancied herself 
 the envy of all the unmarried portion of her own sex 
 in the parish, which had a most soothing influence 
 over her mind. She was just as active, bustling, and 
 particular as ever, in spite of the slight limp which 
 resulted from her accident ; but, if any thing, more 
 good-tempered. Though never solicitous for mar- 
 riage, she was now gratified by it ; and in her own 
 way, she was fond of her husband : and he treated 
 her just as might have been expected — lie considered 
 her merely as part of the property. 
 
 Once every year did this worthy couple give what Mrs 
 M'Whirter called a " tea-handling " to their neigh- 
 bours ; and to do the hostess justice, there was no parsi- 
 mony displayed at that time. It was a very brilliant one 
 they gave a few weeks after the wedding. Every family 
 of any gentility within four miles, with the exception 
 of the writer to the signet's family, who would only 
 visit the regular gentry, was invited. We of course 
 had not got the length of sending written invitations 
 in our neighbourhood. A man, mounted on the doc- 
 tor's horse, was one afternoon despatched with a verbal 
 invitation for that day-week, to all concerned, and an 
 answer was returned by the same individual. No fear 
 of any refusals : no chance of two parties occurring on 
 the same evening : our society was on too limited a scale 
 for that. Every one was aware, too, of what was in 
 contemplation before the invitation came, and had got 
 their best ruffles and stomachers ready. A party in 
 these days was properly valued, I can tell you, when
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 113 
 
 perhaps six months might elapse before you were in- 
 vited to another. I know I was always glad to hear 
 of one. 
 
 There was much excitement among all invited about 
 the doctor's party. All were curious to see how the 
 new married couple would look together (they had 
 seen them already at church, however) , and especially 
 how Miss Babby would conduct herself as a bride. 
 The younger portion of the guests were the most in- 
 terested, particularly the women, who, without envy- 
 ing her the doctor, felt themselves very indignant at 
 the marriage of a woman of her age. The men treated 
 the whole affair as an excellent joke, and looked for- 
 ward to the evening with gleeful expectation. The 
 doctor's party formed the only topic of conversation in 
 the parish for the whole week. Even the poor people 
 knew exactly how many tongues had been salted, 
 how many fowls were doomed to be roasted, and how 
 many " farls " of shortbread and dozens of sponge 
 biscuit had been ordered, for the Wednesday evening, 
 at Tarn Dickson's the baker's in Lanark, w T ho not only 
 supplied such delicacies, but even wheaten bread, to 
 families for miles around. 
 
 At length the Wednesday arrived. It was in the 
 beginning of December, and I remember a keen frost 
 set in that afternoon. We had had several days of 
 heavy rain, and the sudden transition in the weather 
 made the roads like a sheet of ice. It was most un- 
 lucky, for there was no time to get the horses' shoes 
 frosted, and the greater part of the guests had to come 
 vol. I. H
 
 114 ROSE DOUULAS. 
 
 miles. No one was missing however. They set out 
 early, while it was yet daylight, and with a man 
 leading the horse wherever the ground was slippery, 
 they managed to get along safely. The danger was 
 in the returning along these rough hilly roads in the 
 dark. But even the women never dreamt of staying 
 at home — they would neither disappoint themselves 
 nor their entertainers. 
 
 The only conveyance used by country families in 
 those days — I mean families of the rank of those I 
 am describing — was a covered cart, or caravan, as 
 we called it. Some of these vehicles may still be 
 seen in remote country places. This was merely an 
 ordinary cart, somewhat longer perhaps, unblessed 
 with springs, and with an awning surmounting it. 
 The awning was formed of strong green canvass sup- 
 ported by spars. The upper end of the conveyance 
 was generally entirely of wood painted of the same 
 colour with the cloth, having a small sliding window, 
 thus enabling those within this moving cavern to hold 
 communication with the driver outside. There was a 
 small curtain instead of a door. To ascend into this 
 primitive carriage, you required the aid of a chair, or 
 something equally high. As these carts were long in 
 comparison with their breadth, if the first person who 
 entered was more than usually stout, there was some 
 risk of a capsize. Such pushing, and struggling, and 
 screaming as I have seen when some fat matron was 
 complimented with the first place. She standing with 
 one foot on the chair, her knee resting on the edge of
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 115 
 
 the cart, grasping its sides with both hands, red in the 
 face and breathless from exertion, while the driver 
 endeavoured to preserve the equilibrium of the vehicle, 
 and her friends pushed and better pushed at her per- 
 son till it finally disappeared in the interior. She 
 then made a famous balance for those who followed 
 her. Some of these carts had seats down either side, 
 others a bench across the top and middle. The 
 smaller branches of the family could be stuck along 
 with the band-boxes in the corners. We had one of 
 course, — all ministers had ; for what else could they 
 have had to shelter them from the weather, and to 
 convey them to any distance ? As for gigs, single and 
 double, none of us pretended to them at that time. But 
 the caravan was a most disagreeable conveyance. It 
 moved slowly on account of its heaviness and want of 
 springs. It was very confined and dark ; and then 
 the jolting along those ill-made roads of ours. I never 
 put my foot into one of them if I could avoid it ; the 
 noise and motion were so sure to produce headache. 
 But on this cold December night, I had to do just like 
 others. Fortunately, we had only two miles to go, 
 and it was all even road after we passed the Craig- 
 lands gate. It sloped from thence to the river, near 
 which, as I have said, the manse stood ; but it was so 
 gradual that we had no cause to fear. 
 
 It was a bitterly cold evening, and a few flakes of 
 snow began to fall just as we left. John was in one 
 of his cross moods. He disliked taking out his beast, 
 as he called the horse, on any evening, more particu-
 
 116 HOSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 larly a severe one like this, and did not like leaving 
 the chimney corner himself. 
 
 When we arrived, we found numbers before us. 
 I remember that evening well. It was decidedly the 
 noisiest entertainment ever given at Auchtermuir, 
 and my father looked rather grave about it. The 
 doctor and his wife had determined to grace their 
 nuptials by something out of the common. Every 
 family therefore with whom they had the slightest 
 acquaintance was invited. The largest parlour, an 
 old-fashioned low-roofed room, was crowded to the 
 door, and in spite of the cold of the night, it was 
 overheated. Remember, I do not mean to say it 
 was old-fashioned fifty years ago, for then the house 
 had only been built twenty, or thereabouts ; but it 
 would now be considered so. Its furniture was very 
 substantial and formal, being just what Miss Babby 
 and her father had all along used ; but it was so well 
 kept that it shone as bright as the little oval mirror 
 with the spread eagle above, which was fastened over 
 the sideboard. The mantelpiece was rather curious. 
 It was of elaborately carved wood painted black, 
 and very lofty, and many strange curiosities and old- 
 maidish nicknacks ornamented it. 
 
 Down the room extended a long massy - legged 
 dining -table covered with tea-things. There was a 
 silver tea-equipage at the head ; but there were relays 
 of teapots of all shapes and kinds in the kitchen ready 
 to make their appearance when needed. Two other 
 ladies assisted Mrs M'Whirter to pour out the tea;
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 117 
 
 and their posts were not enviable, for some of the 
 elderly guests, particularly the female ones, were most 
 indefatigable tea-drinkers. 
 
 The bride received her company in great state 
 seated in her arm chair, from which she merely rose 
 to make a formal curtsy and to shake hands with each 
 of her guests when they entered. Mrs M'Whirter 
 was attired in a yellow figured damask gown, which 
 had originally been her own mother's marriage dress. 
 She had had it altered to suit the present fashion, and 
 it saved her the expense of a new gown. But it 
 someway harmonized ill with the bride's wrinkled 
 sallow skin, and stiff ungainly figure. A more sub- 
 dued colour would certainly have suited her better. 
 She wore a very smart cap, and had been at the ex- 
 pense of getting a new front of hair — certainly it 
 was time to relinquish the old one. But as the new 
 happened to be several shades lighter than the other, 
 one was rather perplexed for a minute or two by the 
 change, till the eye got accustomed to it. Mrs 
 M'Whirter was evidently much impressed with the 
 dignity of her new position, and anxious to have all 
 its honours paid her. She did not think of making 
 herself agreeable to her guests ; and when she was not 
 mechanically going through her tea-table duties, she 
 sat grim and silent amongst us, being a fair butt for the 
 ironical compliments of all the rattling spirits there, 
 and certainly neither she nor the doctor were spared. 
 She was, however, perfectly unconscious of it. She 
 was really uncomfortable through the evening for
 
 118 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 want of her snuff, which the doctor had prevailed upon 
 her to relinquish for the time. There was an involun- 
 tary movement of her hand constantly in the direction 
 of her pocket I could observe, but a moment's reflec- 
 tion always brought it back again immediately. 
 
 The doctor, unlike his usual self, was all fun and 
 joviality. He was evidently satisfied with his new 
 position, and roared with laughter at every joke ; and, 
 as I have said, they were not a few on his married 
 condition. To the ladies he was most gallant and at- 
 tentive, particularly to the young ones, as if to make 
 amends for his former neglect of them. He himself 
 volunteered a song during the evening, and sang it 
 too, though in so discordant a key that my next 
 neighbour, Mrs Pettigrew, an old lady, whispered in 
 my ear that the mere sound was enough to " spean a 
 bairn." We had a great deal of singing, some of it 
 very pleasing, though of course uncultivated ; and a 
 great deal of toddy during the evening. The new 
 married couple's health was drunk with deafening 
 cheers. And at last the fun grew so " fast and furi- 
 ous," that an adventurous laird pushing the heavy 
 table aside, insisted on the bride's dancing a reel with 
 him, and dragged her up to the floor. Now, Miss 
 Babby even in her youthful days — which, alas ! were 
 long gone — had seldom been accustomed to dance. 
 She had attended the dancing-school in Glasgow, her 
 native town, certainly, when a girl, but her joints had 
 grown sadly stiff since that time. If you could but 
 have seen her this evening, with her lean upright
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 119 
 
 figure limping through the dance,— even my father was 
 at last compelled to smile and to turn his head away. 
 The only music, by the way, was the whistling of the 
 company, and as some whistled out of time and others 
 out of tune, the dancing was soon put an end to. 
 
 There was many a pretty girl there that night 
 whom the doctor had secretly slighted for his ancient- 
 looking bride, and a strange contrast she was to 
 them ; but the doctor saw his spouse in her goods and 
 chattels. He was quite indifferent to the jokes and 
 innuendoes which the men showered upon him as he 
 sat among them carefully stirring the contents of his 
 large punch bowl with a silver-mounted ladle. The 
 women thought Mrs M'Whirter a greater fright than 
 ever ; but as they looked round the cosy apartment, 
 could not but acknowledge that the doctor had made 
 a good thing of it. 
 
 It was a most uproarious affair the doctor's first 
 party ; but most of the guests were of a rough race, 
 and addicted to practical jokes. My father's pre- 
 sence kept them in some restraint ; but they evi- 
 dently thought the doctor and his wife fair game. 
 We were glad when at an early hour John announced 
 our conveyance, as by that time our host's percep- 
 tions were getting dull. The snow had fallen so as 
 to cover the ice, and we reached home safely. I never 
 heard of any accident having taken place that night, 
 though many a cough dated from it, and the doctor 
 was particularly busy the following week. He was 
 not visible next dav till the evening; but Mrs
 
 120 HOSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 M'Whirter was early active in getting rid of all signs 
 of the entertainment. 
 
 The doctor's party produced fruit. A marriage 
 came from it ; and a very different one it was in 
 many respects from the last, for the bride was con- 
 sidered the beauty of the parish, and the bridegroom 
 was a gallant young laird, sensible withal, and who 
 farmed his own property to much advantage. They 
 were in the same rank in life, and were near neigh- 
 bours. He had ventured to ask, and been accepted, 
 on their way home that night, while the old couple 
 were nodding at the upper end of the cart. So the 
 doctor's party proved a lucky one, and was the means 
 of bringing together again, four months afterwards, 
 most of those who had met there. Mrs M'Whirter 
 and her spouse were of course among them ; but no- 
 body minded them then, except when some wag 
 would facetiously inquire at the doctor for the welfare 
 of the young gudewife. 
 
 I was at the marriage dinner, which was celebrated 
 in an old ruined tower which stood between the two 
 properties. There were so many friends on both 
 sides, that the bride's father's house could not con- 
 tain them, and so they hit upon the happy expedient 
 of the ruin. It was one of those peel towers, lofty 
 and square in form, that are so often to be met with 
 in various parts of the country. It was a grim -look- 
 ing building ; but a merry wedding it was that took 
 place within its walls, — the old roof has never rung 
 again to such sounds. On the ground-floor there
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 121 
 
 were only a gloomy-looking hole intended for a kit- 
 chen, for there was a huge fireplace in it, and a well 
 of spring water to serve in case of siege, I suppose, 
 and several dark vaults resembling dungeons. There 
 was a tradition of other dungeons beneath these ; but 
 I never could discover any entrance to them. A 
 winding stone stair, commencing under an arch, with 
 its outer wall pierced with loop-holes, led to the 
 second floor of the tower, which contained one large 
 apartment and two small ones. The large and one 
 of the small rooms were still entire, and here the 
 wedding feast was held. The upper floor of the cas- 
 tle, as we called it, was perfectly ruinous. The pecu- 
 liarity of the place was quite charming. The con- 
 trast between the usually dreary deserted state of the 
 building, and the mirth now taking place within its 
 walls, was most striking to the imagination. It led 
 one back to old times. 
 
 The bride was an only daughter, and her father 
 was a man of substance, so things were in good style. 
 He would never have to do the same again, he said, 
 and he would just spend his money freely for once. 
 The marriage took place in the laird's parlour, in the 
 presence merely of the mutual relations, and then the 
 party adjourned to the tower, linked two and two, — 
 bride and bridesman leading the way. Here the rest 
 of the company met them ; but first the brooze * was 
 ridden, and the successful competitor claimed and 
 obtained a kiss from the bride, and a glass of whisky 
 
 * A horse race sometimes practised at country weddings in Scotland.
 
 122 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 from her hand. She then led the way to the dinner 
 tables. Up and down the large apartment of the 
 tower, — and it was a very spacious one, — were long 
 tables formed of plain boards, and supported on rough 
 tressels. Across the upper end of the room ran a 
 similar table, crossing the others, and commanding a 
 view of the whole. This was called the bride's table, 
 appropriated to her and the more distinguished guests. 
 Here the bride was led with all ceremony, the brides- 
 maid and man followed her, then my father and my- 
 self, and soon the whole tables were filled, after much 
 laughter and squeezing. There was no place for the 
 bridegroom. It was his duty for the day to wait on 
 his bride and the company ; and I must say he did it 
 gallantly. The bride's father and nearest male rela- 
 tions superintended the various tables. All were 
 covered with the purest linen ; but the necessary arti- 
 cles were most heterogeneous. Here were a white- 
 handled knife and fork, there a black one, or perhaps 
 only a horn spoon, and that an ancient one, in place of 
 it. There were drinking vessels of all forms and sizes, 
 from a simple horn to a crystal tumbler ; but it was 
 no easy matter to provide for such a large company. 
 If there was a scarcity of plates, husband and wife, 
 lad and lass, were contented to use one between 
 
 or 
 
 both ; so with drinking vessels. We were not nice in 
 those days. 
 
 As for the feast, it was plentiful. We had abun- 
 dance of salmon boiled whole in the farm coppers. 
 We had parly lamb from the laird's own ground,
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 123 
 
 joints of mutton and beef, barn-door fowls, and enor- 
 mous pies baked in brown delf dishes, which might 
 have held a sheep. All these were arranged just as 
 the attendants found convenient, — two pies, it might 
 be, together, or legs of mutton intruding upon each 
 other's dishes, and mutually splashing each other 
 with gravy. Vegetables were stuck in all available 
 corners. There were also piles of bread, both oat- 
 cakes and wheaten loaves, in baskets, whole cheeses, 
 and abundance of home-brewed and whisky, but no 
 -wine. 
 
 The farm-servants and poor families about the pro- 
 perty were not excluded, but sat down in the same 
 room with their betters, at the bottom of the tables, or 
 in any corner where a seat could be found, and helped 
 themselves as they liked. There was a dance after 
 the dinner and the tables were cleared away. The 
 seniors retreated into the small room, where punch 
 made in the large wooden milk-dishes stood ready for 
 all the company. The young people, inspired by the 
 strains of two fiddles, danced till past midnight, long 
 after the bride, accompanied by her most intimate 
 friends, had left for her husband's house. 
 
 It was a joyous marriage, and, I believe, it was a 
 very happy union eventually. She brought her hus- 
 band ten sons and daughters, all of whom grew to 
 maturity, and were well settled. She was still a 
 comely good-looking woman, and he a fine cheerful 
 benevolent character, when I attended their youngest 
 daughter's marriage nearly twenty years ago. But
 
 124 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 ah ! it was a dull marriage compared with their own. 
 The old tower was still standing ; but the floor of the 
 large room was now unsafe, though the laird kept his 
 seed-corn in a corner of it, and the wedding was held 
 in the dwelling-house. The young people would not 
 have considered such a wedding as that of their 
 parents genteel. But I could not help sighing for 
 the old tower, and the days when the poor man had 
 his corner as well as the rich man his chair.
 
 ROSE DOUULAS. 125 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OUR NEIGHBOURS AT AUCHTERMUIR. 
 
 They are not forgotten — they are still before us — 
 Still in our souls dwelleth the home of our childhood ; 
 The low sound of its trees, the streams where we wandered, 
 In the old, old time. 
 
 The Misses Weir were the three spinster ladies who 
 lived near the Lanark road. They were natives of 
 that small town, but they thought it genteeler to live 
 in the country. They hired a house called Burnside, 
 which was the family mansion of a spendthrift gentle- 
 man, who had embarrassed himself by horse-racing, 
 and such other expensive amusements, and who was 
 glad to let it. They had lived here for some time be- 
 fore I grew up, and were considered very superior 
 women. They were respectably though not highly 
 connected, and the house they inhabited gave them 
 a certain appearance of consequence. 
 
 Burnside had the look of an ancient family house. 
 It stood in the midst of a green lawn of some size, 
 which by courtesy might be termed a park, and some 
 fine old trees scattered round the house added to its
 
 126 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 air of antiquity. The place, however, was just barely 
 kept in order, and had a neglected, decayed look of 
 gentility, which suited the owner's fortunes. The 
 ladies had a comfortable income, but still insufficient 
 to enable them to do much for the grounds. They 
 loved to make a good appearance however, and all in 
 the immediate neighbourhood of the house looked well, 
 as within all was well-ordered and handsome. They 
 had no garden, except a little patch of vegetables out 
 of sight. The large garden was let to an individual in 
 the neighbourhood ; but the ladies and their visiters 
 had the privilege of walking in it when they chose. 
 No one required to know whether it belonged to them 
 or not : if their friends were regaled with fruit in the 
 proper season, what mattered it to them to know it 
 was purchased ? 
 
 The house was a large and irregular building, but 
 only one portion of it was inhabitable. In their pros- 
 perous days, the family to whom it belonged had 
 made a considerable addition to it, and the new part 
 only was now occupied. The old building was com- 
 pletely forsaken, and the door which communicated 
 with it shut up. Both buildings, with the addition 
 of outhouses, formed a small court behind, which 
 was so weedy and deserted -looking, with a solitary 
 pump-well standing sentinel in the midst of it, that it 
 made one melancholy to see it from the bedroom win- 
 dows which opened upon it. The old building, though 
 ruinous within, was outwardly quite entire ; its peaked 
 roof was very grey ; but the glass was still preserved
 
 ROSE DOUliLAS. 127 
 
 in its windows, so no stranger could guess it was un- 
 inhabited. The whole had an imposing effect from 
 the road (glimpses being occasionally caught of it 
 through the belt of plantation which skirted the 
 fence), for you had two fronts as it were visible at 
 once, the old and new buildings standing at right 
 angles to each other. The Misses Weir were fortu- 
 nate to obtain all this grandeur at a low rent. Most 
 people thought the ruin a drawback, but it certainly- 
 added to the picturesque effect of the whole. All the 
 building was white-washed, which contrasted finely, 
 I thought, with the weather-stained roof. It was not 
 a healthy situation. It stood low, on a somewhat 
 marshy soil, and a stream meandered through the 
 grounds, and almost washed the walls of the little 
 court behind. Miss Weir and the two old maid-ser- 
 vants were always complaining of rheumatism. But 
 people could not understand these things in those 
 days. A sloping bank, covered with thick unpruned 
 trees, sheltered the house behind, — a rookery had long 
 been established amongst them, and the solemn caw- 
 ing of the birds alone seemed to break the constant 
 stillness and stately seclusion of the place. A round 
 lofty pigeon-house, with a roof as peaked and grey 
 and walls as white as the mansion-house, rose among 
 the grounds on one side (well peopled it seemed to 
 be), and on the other was a little pathway, which, 
 crossing the stream by a rude bridge, led to a few 
 cottages which stood at the outside of the fence, con- 
 cealed from sight by the trees. Here the little urchins
 
 128 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 belonging to them would sometimes venture to paddle 
 about in the burn, or to break sticks from the trees, 
 secure from observation. The avenue was a long 
 winding one, and there was a small lodge at the 
 gate. 
 
 Of course there was a haunted room in the old part 
 of the building. It was too venerable to escape that 
 claim to distinction. But it had long been shut up, 
 and the ghost had got tired of its wanderings, I sup- 
 pose, for it never showed itself. Miss Weir, or rather 
 Miss Menie, as she was always called, the eldest 
 spinster, had her apartment in that direction ; but she 
 was the most courageous of the family, and did not 
 mind it. There was a nailed-up door of considerable 
 antiquity communicating with the passage from 
 which her bedroom opened. It had once given access 
 to the old rooms, but since they had been allowed to 
 fall into decay, it had simply been fastened thus. I 
 used to think Miss Menie very bold in sleeping there ; 
 but she declared she had never been disturbed except 
 once or twice on windy nights, when she had heard 
 noises, she confessed. These probably proceeded from 
 some brick loosening in the old chimneys, or some 
 piece of plaster tumbling from the ceiling of the ruins. 
 But I doubt if Miss Menie ever took the trouble of 
 ascertaining. The rest of the family were not so un- 
 concerned. Miss Menie's bedroom being a large one, 
 was at first shared by her youngest sister ; but she 
 had early deserted her, and taken refuge in a smaller 
 apartment in the other end of the house. The ser-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 129 
 
 vants were also very timorous, and always arranged 
 Miss Menie's room before nightfall, and in company. 
 Such a family of old maids ! The youngest 
 mistress was forty, and the two servants were some- 
 what older. They had each their pets too, except I 
 think the eldest, who was the clearest-headed of the 
 family. The servants had the same christian name, 
 which was rather perplexing, as neither would consent 
 to be called by her surname. How their mistresses 
 managed to distinguish them I do not recollect ; 
 but the country people settled it easily amongst them- 
 selves by early naming them according to their dif- 
 ferent heights, " lang Jenny," and " little Jenny." 
 They were characters in their way as w~ell as their 
 mistresses. They had served them for upwards of 
 twenty years, and knew every secret of the family, 
 being as regularly consulted as any of the members 
 of it. They regulated the expenses too much as they 
 liked, which was in a very frugal economical manner. 
 The two Jennies had not much relished their removal 
 to the country, and still often sighed with regret for 
 the gossipings they once enjoyed in the Castlegate of 
 Lanark. But they could not bear to part from the 
 family ; so they now boomed at their wheels or 
 mended the household linen in the damp dull kitchen 
 of Bumside, instead of performing the same work in 
 their old cosy, comfortable one in the burgh town, 
 and tried to indemnify themselves for their privations 
 by establishing a kind of patronizing familiarity with 
 various of the cottagers" wives. 
 
 vol. i. I
 
 130 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 Miss Jess and Miss Jean were the names of the 
 younger ladies. There was that species of resem- 
 blance among all the sisters, both mental and personal, 
 which is often to be observed in members of the same 
 family. Menie, the eldest sister, was however mnch 
 superior to the others in force of character, but her 
 mind had not been cultivated by reading. Jess, the 
 second, was a large coarse - looking woman, with a 
 masculine voice, and tastes decidedly so. An ex- 
 cellent wright or smith she would have made, if un- 
 fortunately she had not been born a gentlewoman. 
 She had a habit of wandering about the grounds with 
 a small hammer and nails in her huge pocket, ex- 
 amining the fences and mending them if necessary. 
 She could pick a lock too, when needed, with great 
 neatness and despatch. I rather think she could 
 repair one also. I have still in my possession a small 
 box of her making, which, for execution and dura- 
 bility, I will match against the performance of any 
 rival amateur of the opposite sex. In spite, however, 
 of such freaks, and as if to make amends for them, 
 Miss Jess possessed one of the softest and most im- 
 pressionable hearts which ever fell to the lot of a 
 mature maiden of forty-five. She had suffered from 
 no less than six different attachments during her life 
 (she made me her confidante), and most unfortunately 
 they had never been to the right individual, for they 
 were not returned. But poor Miss Jess cherished no 
 malice ; she freely forgave them their insensibility. 
 Indeed, she had not the heart to kill a fly. Every
 
 HOSE DOUGLAS. 131 
 
 beggar imposed on her, and her sisters were obliged 
 for her own sake to restrain her charities. Her dress, 
 like her pursuits, had always a certain masculine air 
 about it. She wore large rough boots, coarse gloves, 
 and a kind of man's cravat constantly twisted about 
 her neck when out of doors. In short, she was one of 
 those persons one cannot help liking yet laughing at. 
 Jean, the youngest sister, had been a beauty in her 
 time, and she still laid claim to the distinctions result- 
 ing from it. It was a pity, considering the suscepti- 
 bility of her second sister, that her charms had not 
 been shared by her. Jean was coquettish, and af- 
 fected a somewhat youthful manner and style of dress, 
 which contrasted ill with her time of life. But the 
 rest of the family, in which of course I include the 
 servants, evidently considered her a young thoughtless 
 thing for whom much allowance must be made. 
 
 The ladies spent their time in working at tambour 
 frames, and their labours adorned every room in the 
 house, as well as their own persons. They never did 
 any thing else except visiting the neighbourhood and 
 looking after the poor — they did not neglect the 
 latter duty I must say. Besides they had abundance 
 of pets to care for, — cats, paroquets, and canaries. 
 As for the Jennies, they patronized a hedgehog to free 
 them from the beetles which swarmed in the kitchen. 
 
 They were visited by all the gentry around us, and 
 were universally liked, being very hospitable and 
 fond of society. They formed a kind of middle rank 
 between the lairds' families on the one hand and what
 
 132 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 were called the county families on the other, keeping 
 on familiar terms with both. They had also many 
 acquaintances in Lanark. Unlike the habits of our 
 small gentry, to which I alluded in my first chapter, 
 they liked both to visit often and to be so visited. 
 
 I was only slightly acquainted with the Writer to 
 the Signet's family. a Poor and proud" have been 
 the epithets frequently applied to a certain class of 
 Edinburgh gentry, who have the ambition for high 
 life without the proper means to support it. Mr 
 Dundas and his family were of this class. It was 
 rather a pretty place which belonged to them, al- 
 though on a small scale. They had often visiters 
 from Edinburgh residing with them, during the four 
 months of the year the ladies remained at Hillside, 
 which made them less dependent for society on their 
 country neighbours. But they visited the Misses 
 Weir, and one or two families whom their pony 
 phaeton enabled them to reach. 
 
 The family very seldom did us the honour of call- 
 ing, though occasionally they had no objections to 
 make use of the manse as a resting place on Sabbaths, 
 when they chanced to wait for the afternoon service. 
 Once in the year, perhaps, we had a condescending 
 invitation to dinner sent us, than which nothing could 
 be more disagreeable to me, as the stiff, freezing man- 
 ners of the young ladies were most embarrassing to a 
 poor little country girl like myself. I believe they 
 could be very frank with their own associates ; but I 
 was only — the minister's daughter. Since then, I
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 138 
 
 have often observed the same spirit in others, and 
 despised it heartily. Town-bred young ladies would 
 do well to take this warning, that their country sisters 
 have sometimes a fair share of discernment, and are 
 not secretly much impressed by this affectation of 
 superiority. The Misses Dundas might have conde- 
 scended more, and been more respected. 
 
 Their brother was not so fastidious. He coursed, 
 shot, and drank whisky with all the racketing lairds 
 and wild young farmers in the district. He was bred 
 for the bar ; but, I suspect, he never attained the dig- 
 nity of a brief. I sometimes met him and his sisters 
 at Burnside. The Misses Weir were very kind to 
 me, and never had company without inviting me. I 
 liked very much to go to them, for I could sit by one 
 of them, and be quite as silent and observant as I 
 chose ; and I saw a good deal at times to amuse me. 
 Under Miss Menie's, or rather Miss Jess's, ample 
 wing, squeezed into a corner of the stiff settee on 
 which she sat, I could endure the chilling civilities of 
 the young ladies, and be perfectly indifferent to their 
 neglect. They played upon the piano, which I was 
 seldom in the habit of hearing, — and, except that I 
 dreaded having any of their conversation addressed to 
 myself, I passed thus very pleasant evenings. When 
 I first met them at Burnside, I was much afraid they 
 would offer me a seat home in their carriage, as our 
 roads lay for a considerable way in the same direc- 
 tion ; but much to my relief, and to kind Miss Menie's 
 indignation, they felt this too great a favour; so I
 
 134 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 always waited till they were gone, and then set off 
 with Nanny and the lantern for the manse. George, 
 the brother, was much more civil than his sisters, and 
 often seemed inclined to pay me attention ; but I had 
 a little spice of pride of my own, and did not encour- 
 age him. If I had, however, I could not have better 
 revenged myself on the impertinencies of his sisters. 
 
 I often provoked my quiet gentle father to smile 
 when I returned home from meeting these people, with 
 my anecdotes of the evening. But he always checked 
 me when I got too censorious. I am afraid I had a 
 little failing that way. 
 
 I have now introduced you to the principal families 
 about Auchtermuir ; but there is still one individual 
 I must mention, old Mrs Pettigrew, the factor's widow. 
 She lived in a little jointure house left her by her 
 husband, a good way up the hills, with no neigh- 
 bours except a farmer's family close by. She was 
 quite out of the world; but her cottage was a very 
 neat place, and she had enough to live on. She was 
 the most dignified little body possible, ever ready to 
 take offence. When you visited her, you required to 
 be as ceremonious as if you were addressing a duchess. 
 She quarrelled with everybody by turns, for she had 
 very peculiar notions concerning etiquette, and people 
 were apt to infringe, without, of course, being con- 
 scious of it, on her rules. But she was privileged. 
 Her servant was always commanded to address her 
 by the title of madam. Once one was refractory, — 
 " it was sae daft like, and she was na use't. to it."
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 135 
 
 She was dismissed immediately. The old lady was 
 very little and spare in figure, quick as a needle, and 
 as sharp. Her eyes were always red and rheumy- 
 looking, and her mouth was drawn together like a 
 purse. She might have sat for the picture of a witch. 
 
 What a temper she had! She could have been 
 heard scolding half a mile off. The old farmer, her 
 neighbour, was often called in to settle the disputes 
 between her and her servant. She had some respect 
 for his opinion ; and as he generally took part with 
 neither, while he exhorted them both to quietness, 
 each considered him as her friend. It was a great 
 grievance to their decent neighbours at the farm, and 
 one from which they could not escape. The farmer, 
 who preserved peace at his own fireside, thought it 
 hard to be troubled with other people's quarrels ; but 
 yet he did not like to offend the old lady, so near 
 a neighbour too, and with a tongue that deafened him. 
 He tried, however, to keep out of the way as much as 
 possible, leaving them to arrange their disputes as 
 they best could. All the milk and eggs she bought, — 
 and she lived on little else, — were not worth the dis- 
 turbance. " Mak' haste, gudeman," his wife would 
 cry, for he was a little deaf, " awa to the hill wi' ye, 
 — the leddy and Kelly are at it again." And the 
 honest man, rising with a groan from the chimney- 
 corner, would take his stick, and away to the hillside 
 to look after his cattle till the fray was over, and his 
 wife made a signal for him to return. 
 
 She was constantly changing servants, — always
 
 136 KOSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 suspecting them of waste and intrigues, and hunting 
 them up and down for ever. Few staid with her more 
 than a month ; and the farmer and his wife were heart- 
 broken with the numbers that took refuge with them, 
 declaring that they would rather lie on the bare hill 
 than return to their mistress, and seeking only a 
 night's shelter for themselves and their bundles till 
 they could start for their homes, — of course without 
 wages. 
 
 At last, the leddy, as they called her, was sorted with 
 a servant, who proved her match. Nelly showed from 
 the first day that she understood the art of scolding 
 as well, if not better, than her mistress. What a din 
 sometimes reached their ears at the farm ! But by this 
 time they had got accustomed to it. Every morning 
 the mistress dismissed the maid, and the maid re- 
 nounced the mistress, but somehow by night they 
 always got good friends again ; and Nelly, as if to 
 make amends, would wait on her mistress with double 
 assiduity. The maid was middle-aged, with a face 
 seamed with the small-pox, and had only one eye. 
 In fact, she was a perfect antidote to the tender pas- 
 sion ; but the old lady, nevertheless, still resolutely 
 preserved her suspicion of the concealment of a sweet- 
 heart somewhere on the premises, though many a broad 
 grin it occasioned at the farm. Once when in church, 
 to which she was always escorted by the farmer, while 
 Nelly was left in charge of the house, a sudden thought 
 struck her, and she rose softly from her seat and left 
 the congregation. Fearing she was ill, the farmer.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 137 
 
 though rather embarrassed at so public a movement, 
 also stole out and followed her. 
 
 " What is 't — what is 't, Madam ?" he asked anx- 
 iously as he reached her just as she cleared the church- 
 yard. 
 
 " Ou — it 's just that hizzie, Nelly — she '11 hae some 
 o' her lads in ; and they '11 break open every place in 
 the house and ruin me." 
 
 They both hurried home, the farmer with difficulty 
 keeping alongside the impatient and active old lady, 
 and, bursting in suddenly at the back door, beheld — 
 poor Nelly, with her Bible and the Book of Martyrs 
 on her knee, fast asleep by the fire. It was a good 
 joke for the farmer ever afterwards. 
 
 Many people wondered why Mr Pettigrew had 
 married her, for she was not young at the time — but 
 indeed she had never been young. She was ancient 
 both in speech and looks when a child, old as a young 
 woman, and old both in years and looks when he 
 married her. But it was a simple case. Mr Petti- 
 grew was a meek, easy individual. Miss Bell Buchan 
 was his full cousin, and dependent on her friends, 
 who did not relish the burden. When Mr Pettigrew 
 suddenly became possessed of a small property in our 
 parish by the death of a distant relation (his profits 
 as a factor had been too small to enable him to keep a 
 wife), — the relations settled it all — Thomas must 
 marry Bell. So Bell bought her wedding clothes ; 
 and poor Mr Pettigrew, a perfect saint in comparison, 
 never dreamt of resisting, and did all that was asked
 
 138 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 of him. This was the way Mrs Pettigrew became a 
 matron in her forty-second year. 
 
 And now, reader, you are so far acquainted with 
 the society of Auchtermuir. I told you first some- 
 thing about the poorer classes, and now I have intro- 
 duced you to the richer ones. You can have some 
 idea, though I know an imperfect one, of the manner 
 in which we lived, and of the intercourse we had with 
 one another. Those who like details of bustling life, 
 who love to hear of the whirl and excitement of what 
 is called the great world, will be disappointed in 
 these slight sketches, which only pretend to depict 
 the scenes and characters of a retired country parish, 
 such as they existed many years ago. I have done 
 my best to fix impressions and recall remembrances 
 which declining years already begin to obliterate. It 
 is sometimes pleasing to look back into the past — 
 Alas ! it is often painful too. 
 
 We were a happy but simple race : we needed 
 little ; our wants had not yet increased. We had the 
 flowers and the fruits of the earth around us, the 
 green grass as a carpet for our footsteps, and the trees 
 which God had watered for a canopy from the noon- 
 day sun. The gospel was purely preached among 
 us, and I trust it bore fruit in many hearts — What 
 needed we more ?
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 139 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A MEETING OF PRESBYTERY AND A DINNER. 
 
 You speak truth, Hortensio ; 
 If pastors love to feast and spend their hours 
 In indolence and mirth, their flocks are sure 
 To wander on the mountains. 
 
 Early one morning, as we were seated at breakfast, 
 in the spring of 17 — , a man on horseback rode up to 
 the door, and presently one of the servants entering 
 presented my father with two letters ; the one con- 
 tained a summons to him to attend a meeting of pres- 
 bytery on the following week, the other was for me : 
 it was from Mrs Purdie, the wife of the minister of 
 Crossford. As the messenger waited an answer, I 
 hastened to open it. These were the contents : — 
 
 " Crossford Manse, Saturday night. 
 
 " Dear Miss Douglas, 
 
 " We were happy to hear from Mr Patter- 
 son" (a neighbouring minister), " who was here last 
 Tuesday night, that the minister and you were in 
 your usual health. I have been thinking for the last 
 month of giving you a call, but we have had an awful
 
 140 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 to-do, first with the cleaning of the house, which is no 
 light job, as you know, and then with the illness of one 
 of the servant-lasses : we are now, however, in a way to 
 see our friends. Your father will tell you that we are 
 to have a meeting of the presbytery here next Thurs- 
 day to examine into the state of our old kirk, which 
 many think is far from safe, and of course we give 
 them their dinner afterhend. We will be happy if 
 you will come along with your father, and the caravan 
 can take you both home again at night, though if you 
 could stay we have a bed at your service, and you 
 need be on no ceremony. You are such a grand hand 
 at the making of sweet things (Mr Purdie, honest man, 
 has never forgotten yon syllabubs yet), that I would 
 take it as a particular favour if you would come early 
 and give me a help, — I am sure I may use so much 
 freedom with you. Jeanie has been very ill with a 
 sore throat, but is, I am glad to say, better, though 
 still complaining. I suppose you have heard of Miss 
 Bess Wardrope's death. She has left all her gear, 
 they say, to the Garnock family, except a bit legacy 
 to the old servant-lass, and so much to keep the cat ; 
 she has not left her sister a brown bawbee, though 
 she has so much to do with her small family : but 
 she never owned her after her marriage with the 
 schoolmaster, and she has gone to her grave, poor 
 prideful woman, in the same spirit. I have no more 
 news to tell you, except that your old favourite, wee 
 Johnny, has grown into a big laddie, — we are thinking 
 of a polonie for him already. Excuse blunders, as T
 
 KOSE DOUGLAS. 141 
 
 am in a hurry ; and with kind regards to the minister, 
 I remain, 
 
 " My dear Miss Douglas, 
 
 " Your sincere friend, 
 
 " Janet Puedie." 
 
 " From Crossford manse, sir," I said, putting the 
 letter into my father's hand. 
 
 " Crossford, — I see that the meeting of presbytery 
 is fixed to take place there. I trust they will not 
 find it necessary to pull down that venerable old 
 building. — Well, Eose," after he had read it, " do 
 you wish to go ?" 
 
 " Very much, dear sir, — you know good Mrs Pur die 
 will be disappointed if I do not superintend the puddings 
 and pies on such a momentous occasion. Besides, I 
 know she means me to many Mi Wylie, the new 
 minister of Crossbasket, so of course I must be there. 
 (My father smiled, but shook his head slightly.) Shall 
 I tell John we will require the cart on Thursday ? " 
 
 u Yes, you had better tell John, as he will be busy 
 this week, and he can arrange." 
 
 Shall I give you a specimen of John's reception of 
 any order that came through me ? It is a picture be- 
 sides of a class of servants nearly if not entirely ex- 
 tinct. 
 
 After breakfast, I went to the garden in search of 
 John : he was planting vegetables on the sheltered 
 side of a high beechen hedge which divided that por- 
 tion of the garden which was orchard from the other ;
 
 142 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 though he saw me approaching, he did not trouble 
 himself to look up or speak to me. 
 
 u What a fine morning, John," I said, as an intro- 
 duction to my commission. 
 
 " The morning 's weel eneuch," was all the answer 
 I got. 
 
 " These seem fine cabbages," I went on to say. 
 
 " Hout — what do ye women ken about cabbages ? 
 There 's nane amang ye kens a cabbage frae a kail- 
 stock, for a' your pretence." 
 
 " And have I not heard you say that, next to your- 
 self of course, I am the best gardener in the parish." 
 He looked up at me for a moment, as I said this, and 
 grinned. 
 
 " Ye wadna be stressed, that 's a'," he answered. 
 " But what brings ye here enoo. I hae nae time for 
 claverin', if that 's what your wanting. I maun awa 
 when this job 's done to the glebe." 
 
 " Papa wants you to go with us to Crossford on 
 Thursday," I said. John stopped his labours instantly, 
 and resting both his hands indignantly on his spade, 
 which he planted upright in the ground, he faced me. 
 
 " To Crossford — to Crossford, said she! "he ex- 
 claimed. " The lassie 's in a creel. What time hae 
 I to gang to such places, I wad just like to ken? 
 Gae wa — gae wa." 
 
 " But you must go," I repeated : " there is to be a 
 meeting of presbytery ; and you know we cannot walk 
 so many miles." 
 
 " Stay at hame, then, or ye may tak' a chance o' a
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 143 
 
 cart on the road — What 's to hinder ye ? How do ye 
 think my beast 's to draw ye after near a week's 
 wark?" and continuing to grumble, he again seized 
 his spade, and began to work with double diligence, 
 and a most dogged expression of countenance. He 
 paused suddenly. 
 
 " What are ye gaun to do at Crossford?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 " We are going to a meeting of presbytery, as I told 
 you before, you stupid man," answered I, as a matter 
 of course. " Come, don't be cross, John." 
 
 " Humph — and what 's the presbytery to do at 
 Crossford ? Ye '11 be meaning, doubtless, to act as 
 moderautor ! " — Here he chuckled at his own wit, 
 which somewhat mollified him. 
 
 u They mean to examine the church, and ascertain 
 if it is safe." 
 
 u A wheen masons wad do better, I think," grum- 
 bled the old man. 
 
 u They are to be there also, John. Now, are you 
 satisfied?" 
 
 " Humph — satisfied, said she? It wad satisfy me 
 mair if ye wad keep at hame. But women maun aye 
 be rinnin'. However, ye 're but a bairn after a'. 
 Weel, hinny, gae awa enoo, for ye 're stoppin' my 
 wark, and we '11 see when Thursday comes. But 
 it '11 rain a' week, and I hae an unco sair hoast ;" 
 and he gave a loud hem as if to clear his chest. I 
 left him thoroughly certain, in spite of the opposition 
 he made, that John would be ready on Thursday.
 
 144 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 Mrs Purdie was a favourite of his (and he had few 
 favourites), for she was one of the most hospitable per- 
 sons in the country, which she could well afford to be, 
 as she brought Mr Purdie at their marriage five thou- 
 sand pounds. 
 
 Accordingly, when Thursday arrived (which, by 
 the bye, falsified John's prediction by being remark- 
 ably fine) , did he, arrayed for the occasion in his best 
 blue suit and Sunday's hat, appear before the door 
 with our clumsy conveyance. Nanny brought a chair 
 from the kitchen to enable us to ascend, and we were 
 soon seated at the upper end of the cart, with our feet 
 cosily buried among wisps of straw. John mounted 
 with grave deliberation to his own place, gave the 
 word of command to the horse, and away we went, 
 jingling and shaking along the road, while Nanny 
 and Peggy, mounting upon a low wall, watched our 
 progress with much interest till we were lost to sight. 
 
 We proceeded so slowly, owing to the ruggedness 
 of the road, and John's care of his horse, that though 
 only five miles distant, it took us two hours and a 
 half to reach our destination, both heartily tired by 
 that time of our dull and lumbering conveyance. The 
 road was not a pleasing one, as w r e left the hill coun- 
 try behind us, and entered on a bare arable tract, 
 attractive enough I daresay to the mere agriculturist ; 
 but I was none. 
 
 The village of Crossford was composed of a long 
 dull stripe of houses, quite as dilapidated and dirty as 
 the generality of Scotch cottages are. Some of the
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 145 
 
 houses possessed an upper story ; but most of them 
 had only one. A few cottages stood detached from 
 the rest, and were somewhat more respectable-looking 
 than their neighbours, having little gardens (not par- 
 ticularly well attended to) behind or in front. One 
 of these evidently belonged to the wright (for there 
 was a woodyard close by it, and a sawing-pit), and 
 another to the blacksmith of the village, both digni- 
 taries in their little world. But the village could 
 boast of no beauty of any sort. Dunghills and pig- 
 sties in general ornamented the rear of the dwellings, 
 and in front were abundance of gutters and puddles 
 formed by the droppings from the thatch in rainy 
 weather. As we passed, these were tenanted by 
 dirty ducks, and still dirtier children. 
 
 The manse lay only a short distance beyond the 
 village, through which we had to drive to reach it. 
 The rumbling of the cart brought many of the inha- 
 bitants to their doors and windows, while the children, 
 deserting their employment of paddling with their 
 bare legs in the pools, stuck on to the end of the cart, 
 ambitious of the glory of a drive, and utterly regard- 
 less of the whip with which John vainly assailed them 
 from the front. They clung to their position till we 
 reached the gate of the manse, where another bevy of 
 village urchins stood watching the arrival of the min- 
 isters. The cart was with some difficulty turned into 
 the narrow entrance, and they then dismissed us with 
 loud cheers. At length we reached the house door, 
 where Mrs Purdie, already dressed in a bright silk 
 vol. i. K
 
 14fi ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 gown, which set off her somewhat portly - looking 
 figure to much advantage, appeared in a great bustle 
 to bid us welcome. 
 
 " Come awa Mr Douglas — blythe to see ye baith," 
 she exclaimed with hospitable alacrity, as she assisted 
 us in our descent from the cart, which our shaken 
 limbs rendered very necessary. " Mr Patterson and 
 Doctor Dryscreed are come before you — they 're in the 
 parlour with Mr Purdie. We expect a very full meet- 
 ing. How 's a' wi' ye, John. Just tak your beast 
 to the stable — the key 's in the door — and dinna spare 
 the corn ; and now come this way," ushering us into 
 the house. " Ye maun be sair fatigued wi' your drive, 
 and of course you '11 tak something before you go in 
 to the meeting." 
 
 My father however declined all refreshment, and at 
 his request was shown into the room where his brother 
 ministers were assembled. I followed Mrs Purdie into 
 the dining-room, where already appeared great prepa- 
 rations for the approaching feast. The leaves of a 
 large dinner-table were extended, and on the window 
 seats and sideboard were heaped plates, glasses, knives 
 and forks, spoons, et cetera, in great profusion : a clus- 
 ter of dusty cobwebbed bottles stood in a corner, and 
 a suspicious-looking jar of tolerable dimensions was 
 beneath the sideboard. The cupboard too, which was 
 partially open, permitted a glance at well laden shelves. 
 The Purdies were always hospitable, but there was 
 evidently a great affair at present in contemplation. 
 
 " I have had such a fight a' mornin' wi' the bairns,"
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 147 
 
 said the good lady, after a sufficient pause had been 
 allowed for contemplating the surrounding glories. 
 " Poor things, it 's but natural to them to wish to see 
 a' things, but they canna keep their hands to them- 
 sels. I wish Jeanie was a wee aulder, it would be 
 such a help. But now, my dear, ye maun take off 
 your things, and come wi' me to the pantry, unless ye 
 would like a little rest first." 
 
 I was not at all fatigued I assured her. 
 
 " Weel that 's good, for as for mysel I 'm dung 
 clean stupid wi' a' this stir, and scarcely ken what to 
 turn to first. But for ony sake we maun take care the 
 bairns dinna ken you 're here (it 's a mercy they were 
 out o' the way when the cart came), or I'll get no 
 good of you ava." So saying she hurried me up stairs 
 to the small bedroom I was accustomed to occupy when 
 visiting the manse. Here I divested myself of my 
 wrappings, and then accompanied Mrs Purdie to her 
 store-room, which she called the pantry, to give her 
 my promised assistance. 
 
 In the meantime vehicle after vehicle rumbled up to 
 the door of the manse, and the hum of voices from the 
 apartment in which the reverend presbytery was as- 
 sembled began gradually to deepen. Indeed, to judge 
 by the sounds which occasionally reached our ears, 
 even in the recesses of the pantry, I would have sup- 
 posed the meeting rather one of conviviality, than one 
 of serious men assembled on grave and important busi- 
 ness. But some of our ministers, alas ! were a reck- 
 less set of men, very ill fitted, I fear, for their office,
 
 148 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 and their more sober-minded brethren could not re- 
 strain them by their presence. Mrs Purdie did not 
 always interrupt her employment to receive the new 
 arrivals. She first popped her head into the passage 
 to recognise the individual, and unless he happened to 
 be a favourite she proceeded no farther, leaving the 
 servant to show such to the proper room, though their 
 own ears, I thought, might have guided them there. 
 
 She bustled about in the most active manner, wear- 
 ing a homely apron to preserve her silk dress from 
 stains — she had provided me with a similar one. Now 
 she was off to the kitchen, whence her voice sounded 
 shrill and high in a lecture to Betty ; and in another 
 minute she would be again at my side, taking up the 
 thread of the story she had dropped, and all with the 
 most perfect composure. I could not help admiring 
 her good temper, and the coolness she displayed in 
 giving me all the gossip of the country-side, with her 
 house in such confusion. All she seemed to dread was 
 an inroad from the children. 
 
 " I have ordered auld Janet to keep them in the 
 nursery," she said uneasily; "but wha can keep 
 bairns in if they are determined to be out ? and if they 
 break in here they will be dipping their fingers in 
 every thing. That was Johnny, enoo — I hope they 're 
 no quarrelling. Hech sirs — but ye little ken, my 
 dear, what it is to hae a family ; the bearing o' them 's 
 naething to the rearing o' them." 
 
 It was really a busy forenoon. I enjoyed compara- 
 tive quiet, as unlike Mrs Purdie I had no occasion to
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 149 
 
 leave the pantry. Poor Mrs Purdie ! her jolly good- 
 natured face, which certainly never was pale, began to 
 grow a fiery red. "With her journeys from pantry to 
 kitchen, from thence to nursery, and from nursery to 
 dining-room, the drops of moisture stood on her brow. 
 She however preserved her imperturbable good nature 
 through it all. It was this easy temper that made her 
 so universally liked. Every one, from the richest to 
 the poorest in the parish had a good word to say of 
 Mrs Purdie. 
 
 At length my labours were completed. I had done 
 my best, and I was loaded with thanks and praises. 
 " And now," said my hostess, after carefully inspect- 
 ing for the third time all our preparations, which re- 
 sulted in much satisfaction, " I think you should take 
 a turn in the garden to freshen you after a' this work 
 — I will send the bairns out to keep you company. 
 Ye ken ye maun look smart at dinner time, for the 
 young minister o' Crossbasket 's at the meeting, and 
 he isna matched yet. Oh! but it's a bonny place, 
 and the stipend 's a chalder mair than Auchtermuir, 
 I can tell you. Xa, ye needna laugh that way neither ; 
 ye may gang farther and fare waur for a' that ye hae 
 a bonny face o' your ain. But I maunna say mair 
 enoo, for there 's Betty coming to see about the soup." 
 And shaking her head at me, she hurried away to 
 speak to the servant. 
 
 I found my way to the garden as she advised, 
 though I could have dispensed with the company 
 which she had promised me, for the little Purdies were
 
 150 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 mostly all rude children, and by this time I was some- 
 what fatigued, having been constantly employed for 
 upwards of two hours. 
 
 The garden lay behind the house. The manse of 
 Crossford was not a very attractive place. The hand 
 of taste was not perceptible there. The house itself 
 was larger than ours at Auchtermuir ; but there was 
 no room for comparison between the two in point of 
 neatness and comfort. The situation, too, was bad, 
 near to the village, and almost overlooked by it, — an 
 advantage to inquisitive neighbours, but intolerable to 
 a family, unless, as Mrs Purdie said, " they got used to 
 it." The house was lofty and narrow, with a small 
 wing on one side containing the kitchens. Garret 
 windows projected from the roof, and the whole build- 
 ing was coloured a dirty white, streaked here and 
 there with green stains, the marks of a stormy winter. 
 A space wide enough to turn a carriage, and very 
 barely strewn with gravel, lay in front of the door, to 
 which one low step gave access. Beyond the gravel- 
 led space was a green, in the shape of a crescent, 
 surrounded by some straggling overgrown shrubs, and 
 a belt of trees. A low wall and a thorn hedge en- 
 circled this, separating it from the glebe and public 
 road which the house faced ; the stable and other out- 
 houses were close at hand. A door, painted of a 
 dingy green, and somewhat insecure on its hinges, 
 opened in a wall on one side of the house into the 
 garden. 
 
 In it there was nothing to attract the eye ; the orna-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 151 
 
 mental there was made entirely to give place to the 
 merely useful. A large round bleaching green, with 
 wooden posts (some of them not quite perpendicular) 
 for drying linen, was near to the house, a pump-well 
 was close by it. Two large water barrels, for catching 
 the rain which ran from the roof, stood close to the 
 walls, and a dog's kennel, surrounded by a stone fence, 
 occupied the space between them. There were a few 
 plots, originally intended, I suppose, for flowers ; but 
 nothing of the kind was to be seen, with the excep- 
 tion of some rose-bushes of the common kinds, and a 
 few plants of apple-ringey and mint. The rest of 
 the garden, which was tolerably large, was appro- 
 priated to pot vegetables and small fruit'. Of the 
 larger fruit trees there were very few. 
 
 A walk, strewn with ashes, and bordered with tall 
 box, in which many gaps appeared, led round this in- 
 viting domain, up which I leisurely bent my steps ; 
 but I was soon interrupted by the clamour of voices be- 
 hind me, which betokened that the juvenile Purdies had 
 at length escaped from their imprisonment. They came 
 helter-skelter through the garden, rejoicing in their 
 freedom from restraint, their voices raised in disagree- 
 ment, and scratching and pushing one another like 
 little savages. Their ages varied from three to twelve 
 years, and they were five in number, xsone of them 
 had any claims to beauty beyond healthy ruddy 
 countenances, though Mrs Purdie boasted, when 
 speaking of her offspring, " they were braw stout
 
 152 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 bairns, puir things, and didna put their meat in an ill 
 skin." 
 
 The eldest was a girl between twelve and thirteen, 
 tall and awkward, and very boisterous in her man- 
 ners, when unrestrained by strangers, showing little 
 consideration for those younger than herself, but quiet, 
 sly, and prim when exposed to notice. The others 
 were merely a mixture of the ordinary species of boys 
 and girls, the youngest of whom was spoiled by his 
 parents, and envied by his brethren. Such was the 
 group that, calling upon me to stop, came rushing up 
 and over the garden walk somewhat to my regret and 
 consternation : these did not lessen as they more 
 nearly approached. 
 
 " Get out o' the way, Tarn ! " cried Jeanie, the eldest, 
 who, from seeing me occasionally, had overcome all 
 restraint in my company. " What for are you dunsh- 
 ing that gate ?— Mama's sent me to Miss Douglas." 
 
 " Get out o' the way yoursel' ! " Here followed a 
 blow and some struggling between them, when I in- 
 terposed. 
 
 " It 's Jeanie aye maun hae her ain way," said the 
 boy, darting, while he spoke, a revengeful look at his 
 sister, which threatened future retaliation. 
 
 " Oh, Tarn !" exclaimed the girl in a loud key of 
 expostulation. 
 
 " Yes, you do ; and mama sent me as weel as you." 
 
 ".Oh, Tarn — what a lee!" again ejaculated the 
 other. "Did she, Phemie?"
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 153 
 
 Here I once more checked the rising storm, though 
 the children continued to throw spiteful glances to- 
 wards one another ; and having taken notice of them 
 all, I proposed, as a quiet saunter was now out of the 
 question, that they should accompany me to the 
 church, which was the subject of the day's meeting. 
 
 " Mama said we were na to gang outside the yett," 
 whispered the most timid of the girls, a little fair- 
 haired thing of five years old, who, compared with 
 her robust and boisterous companions, looked delicate 
 and interesting, and who, I was often sorry to see, 
 was somewhat neglected by those who, in conse- 
 quence, should have shown her more kindness. But 
 Mrs Purdie's affections were principally devoted to 
 her boys. 
 
 " Then we shall not go, Phemie," I said, stooping 
 to caress the little girl, whose fair cheek coloured at 
 the notice she had excited. But her unruly compa- 
 nions were indignant at her interfering with a pro- 
 posal into which they eagerly entered. 
 
 u Phemie 's aye frichted," said one ; " and I 'm 
 sure mama would let us go with Miss Douglas," said 
 another. " I 'm determined I '11 gang," cried the 
 eldest boy : " Mr Cochrane promised me a ride on his 
 brown mare the first time he came, and old Saunders 
 that brought the beef from the town says he 's come ; 
 so here we go — hurra ! " And he flew down the walk, 
 his next brother followed, both whooping and huzza- 
 ing, and they were speedily out of sight. 
 
 " Well, they '11 get it," said their eldest sister, look-
 
 154 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 ing after them with a discontented glance, which 
 showed how willingly she would have followed their 
 example if she durst : the prospect of their punish- 
 ment was some consolation however. I was glad to 
 be rid of the elder boys, and now walked on in peace 
 with the other children, " wee Johnny " taking pos- 
 session of my hand, while Phemie, my especial 
 protegee, came to the other side and held timidly by 
 my gown. 
 
 " What is the matter with Bella ?" I asked of her 
 eldest sister, surprised to see one of the children with 
 red eyes and all the signs of grief, with no apparent 
 reason. 
 
 a Oh, she's a silly thing," she replied, giving her 
 sister at the same time a shake, — " What are you 
 greetin' for ? I'm sure I didna hurt you. She thinks 
 there '11 be no apple-pie left after dinner, and she 's 
 been crying about it all morning." 
 
 " Weel," sobbed the disconsolate lover of apple-pie, 
 " ye ken yoursel' that Mr M'Gilvray aye takes twa 
 helpings, and sae does papa." 
 
 I could not help laughing. Poor Bella ! in her 
 childish heart she hated Mr M'Gilvray — their mutual 
 propensities interfered. It had a moral. 
 
 " And hasna mama promised that we 11 have an- 
 other on Saturday when uncle Peter comes?" said 
 Miss Jeanie. 
 
 " Ay, but Saturday's no the day," grumbled the 
 little girl, who would not be satisfied. 
 
 " Me want apple-pie too," now whimpered Johnny,
 
 KUSE DOUGLAS. 155 
 
 taking a lesson from his sister, with his linger in his 
 mouth. 
 
 " Now, Johnny, dinna you begin, for if there's a bit 
 left mama will be sure to give it to you," said his 
 eldest sister impatiently. I took the children into a 
 rude kind of summer-house which stood in a corner of 
 the garden, and promised to tell them a story if 
 Bella would dry her eyes and think no more of the 
 pie. She agreed to do so ; so I sat with Johnny 
 on my knee and the other children grouped about me, 
 and told them stories for half an hour. Then we 
 took another walk, and Johnny, who was a lively 
 though spoiled child, insisted on showing me all his 
 possessions in the garden, a little spade and cart, and 
 such like articles, which were kept in a small tool- 
 house ; and so the time wore on. 
 
 I was beginning however to grow weary of my 
 situation, as I did not know how to get free of the 
 children, when an old woman who acted as nurse-maid 
 to them appeared at the foot of the walk. " There 's 
 old Janet," said Jeanie, who had been silent ever 
 since the story-telling ; " mama will be wanting us 
 now." 
 
 " Come awa, bairns ! " cried the ancient crone, paus- 
 ing first to take breath and to make herself heard ; 
 u come awa like gude banns, for the ministers are a' 
 back frae the kirk, and the dinner will sune be in." 
 
 The children obeyed the summons. I felt it was 
 also time for me to return to the house and make such 
 alterations in my simple dress as were requisite. I
 
 156 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 accordingly followed the children, and met Mrs Purdie 
 in the lobby on her way from the kitchen, who further 
 hurried me by telling me that the ministers had con- 
 cluded their business, and were all assembled in the 
 parlour, impatient, as Mr Purdie informed her, for 
 their dinner. I was not long in preparing myself, 
 and running down stairs, I entered the room in 
 which the company were waiting. I found a large 
 party there. Besides the clergymen, there were 
 several of the proprietors in the parish present, who 
 had attended the meeting to look after their own 
 interests. There were also two ladies, one of them 
 the wife of a neighbouring minister with whom I was 
 acquainted, and the other a Miss Cochrane, the sister 
 of one of the heritors, who kept house for him. 
 
 The children were confined to the nursery ; but a 
 certain humming and kicking overhead sufficiently in- 
 dicated the place of their imprisonment. Occasionally, 
 too, the shuffling of feet in the passage, and the peep- 
 ing in of several small heads at the partly open door, 
 showed that the young folks had partially burst from 
 the restraint to which they had been consigned under 
 the charge of old Janet. At such times, however, 
 Mrs Purdie quietly rose and put a stop to the exhibi- 
 tion by hastily closing the door (which was soon re- 
 opened), after which she returned to her seat and her 
 conversation with Mrs Symington the other matron. 
 
 At length, after waiting in spite of the hurry what 
 seemed an interminable period, during which Mrs 
 Purdie had fidgeted and her spouse had grumbled to
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 157 
 
 no purpose, the door was suddenly thrown open, and 
 a great blouzy servant girl, her cap flaming with red 
 ribbons, announced in a loud voice that " dinner was 
 ready." 
 
 All was now joyful alacrity among the company : 
 the ladies were each hastily tucked under an arm, 
 and we adjourned to the dining-room, whicli was only 
 divided by the breadth of an ordinary passage from 
 the other room. AYe were soon seated round the 
 dinner-table, where I found myself placed between an 
 old grey-haired minister who was notoriously deaf, 
 and the newly appointed minister of Crossbasket, the 
 already-mentioned Mr Wylie. This latter circum- 
 stance, I saw, was duly noted by Mrs Purdie, even 
 amidst her anxiety to observe if all the dishes were 
 properly arranged on the table, and a significant nod 
 of the head testified her satisfaction at the chance 
 which had brought us together. 
 
 At the request of Mr Purdie, (who, by-the-bye, 
 was a fat good-natured little man, whose greatest faults 
 were a love of ease and good living, and who, if these 
 were indulged, left most things to the care of his 
 wife), a blessing was asked by the oldest minister 
 present, who also happened to be moderator, and was 
 seated at our hostess' right hand. 
 
 u Jenny, take off the covers," then said Mrs Purdie. 
 The covers were speedily removed by our two attend- 
 ants, one of whom was evidently the cook, promoted 
 to the office now that her labours in the kitchen were 
 discharged. A look of complacency gradually stole
 
 158 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 over the countenances of the reverend guests as they 
 looked around them, for a good and plentiful dinner 
 smoked before them. There were both cockyleekie 
 and brown soup, (Mrs Purdie was famous for her 
 soups), but the principal and favourite dish was a 
 gigantic round of salted beef at the foot of the table 
 (cured by Mrs Purdie herself, as she took care to in- 
 form us) with its usual accompaniment of greens. 
 
 " Ye are getting a very plain dinner, gentlemen," 
 said the hostess, " but ye maun just make the best 
 o't," her words evidently contradicted by the secret 
 look of pride visible in her countenance as her eye 
 glanced over her well spread board. In her heart of 
 hearts, she knew that no minister's wife in the presby- 
 tery gave so good a dinner to her company. Of 
 course, the highest satisfaction was expressed by her 
 guests, and many jokes (some of them sadly wanting 
 in point) made on the excellence of the feast, to all 
 of which the hostess did " seriously incline " during 
 the brief breathing-time allowed her by her atten- 
 tion to the wants of the company. Mr Purdie was 
 as assiduous at his end of the table, and the round 
 of beef speedily diminished in a surprising manner. 
 Mrs Purdie, indeed, seemed quite in her element. 
 She had an idea that she played the part of hostess 
 well, and in old days, I must tell you, it was a very 
 fatiguing one, for unless you pressed your guests with 
 due vigour, you were not considered hospitable. 
 This supposition was sufficient to overcome fatigue, 
 though what with talking, carving, and pressing the
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 159 
 
 company to eat, her countenance, red enough before, 
 now fairly pained one to look at. She was a sala- 
 mander all over, face, neck, and dress ; her eye was 
 upon every plate, and she seemed delighted to see the 
 good cheer she had provided vanishing. 
 
 " Ye are eating naething, Mr Mucklewham," she 
 would say ; " Dr Auld, I 'm vexed to see you liae sae 
 little appetite, — let Mr Purdie gie you another slice o' 
 the beef. (Jenny take the doctor's plate.) Mrs Sym- 
 ington, I 'm feared your no making your dinner, — try 
 the pigeon-pie, it 's after a receipt o' my ain : — My 
 dear (to her husband), will you see to the young 
 leddies, — Miss Cochrane' s got naething on her plate. 
 I 'm sure, Mr Wvlie, Miss Douglas will take some- 
 thing mair if you will press her." 
 
 In this manner she went on recommending parti- 
 cular dishes, and calling on every guest repeatedly 
 " to make their dinner." Occasionally she indulged 
 in a few private admonitions to the servants, whisper- 
 ing orders, and finding fault if they forgot or blun- 
 dered in any of their duties, which was pretty often 
 the case. Her guests did full justice to her enter- 
 tainment, most of them enjoying themselves like men 
 who were not often accustomed to encounter such 
 a dinner. As their appetites, sharpened by their 
 morning's occupation, became appeased, conversation 
 grew more general. Among the listeners was my 
 father, who was always reserved in company ; but his 
 example was followed by few, for joviality was the 
 order of the moment. There seemed, however, a line
 
 160 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 of separation drawn between the clergymen and those 
 laymen who were present ; professional jokes and al- 
 lusions were often made by the former, which the 
 latter had no key to : they were, therefore, somewhat 
 out of their element among the reverend company in 
 which they were placed, and glad when they could 
 edge in 5 a word amidst the hum of laughter and con- 
 versation. 
 
 The two matrons appeared to enjoy themselves ; 
 for my part I felt tired and stupid. My next neigh- 
 bour, Mr Wylie, I found to be a common-place person, 
 whose former life had not fitted him to be very 
 entertaining with women. A few remarks only 
 on ordinary topics were exchanged between us after 
 sitting down at table, and now we were both silent. 
 My other neighbour, I have said, was deaf, and mis- 
 understood every word I ventured to address to him : 
 I was ashamed to raise my voice to the pitch suited 
 to his infirmity, and having been peevishly informed 
 that " unless I spoke plainer, I had better hold my 
 tongue," was glad to do so. My situation was, there- 
 fore, no enviable one. Good-natured Mr Purdie, 
 however, occasionally addressed a word to me as I 
 sat silent between these two agreeable companions ; 
 but this could only be at rare intervals, as he had the 
 duties of a host to attend to. 
 
 Miss Cochrane, who was seated opposite me, was 
 evidently satisfied with her situation : she was a lively 
 showy-looking girl, a little giddy perhaps, and fond 
 of admiration. She did her best to engage the atten-
 
 KOSE DOUGLAS. 161 
 
 tion of the younger men, in which candour makes me 
 acknowledge she perfectly succeeded ; she had a for- 
 tune of three thousand pounds to add to her attractions, 
 while poor I had nothing. We were not acquainted : 
 Mrs Purdie had introduced us to each other in the 
 parlour, but she took no farther notice of me. 
 
 When the sweet-course came, it was my turn to 
 receive compliments. Mrs Purdie, in the kindness of 
 her heart, could not refrain from informing the com- 
 pany of my morning's assistance : she took the op- 
 portunity of recommending, in what she considered 
 an adroit manner (though it covered me with blushes), 
 some of my handiwork to Mr Wylie, assuring him 
 that Miss Douglas was the best at this in the country- 
 side, and calling on my father to corroborate the truth 
 of what she asserted : of course he only smiled. 
 
 This gave the married ministers an opening for an at- 
 tack upon the bachelor. One observed, that he thought 
 the manse of Crossbasket was unco dull and ill seen-to 
 the last time he was there, and that it wadna be the 
 waur of a mistress that kent as weel as Miss Douglas 
 to look after a house. Another threatened Mr Wylie 
 with the penalty attached to bachelorship at the next 
 presbytery dinner, namely, a bottle of wine. 
 
 To the great delight of the company in general, 
 Mr Wylie and I both looked confused at this open 
 attack : I believe the poor man was afraid I might 
 take it in earnest ; Mr Purdie chuckled, and rubbed 
 his hands ; Mrs Purdie and Mrs Symington exchang- 
 ed significant glances, and told me u not to mind," 
 VOL. I. L
 
 162 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 while they both seemed delighted with the effect 
 of the joke. As for Miss Cochrane, she absolutely- 
 stopped in the flirtation she was carrying on, and 
 for the first time looked fully across the table. At 
 length my good friend Mr Patterson came to my re- 
 lief, and as he was also a bachelor, and an old one, 
 he succeeded in attracting a portion of the raillery to 
 himself, thus allowing me to regain my composure, 
 which had been considerably shaken by this public 
 attack. Mr Wylie took care not to address another 
 word to me during the evening. 
 
 After the cloth was removed, a large punch-bowl 
 of Indian china with glasses was placed on the table. 
 I forgot to remark that during the whole time of din- 
 ner there had been an unusual bustle, and a move- 
 ment of feet in the passage, a scrambling it seemed 
 for the spoils of the dinner, for the servants' voices 
 were often heard in expostulation. All the notice 
 Mrs Purdie took of this (for her husband did not in- 
 terfere) was to desire that the door should be kept 
 closed ; but when the glasses were placed upon the 
 table, she whispered' audibly to the servant to " tell 
 the bairns they might come in now." 
 
 Accordingly, after the delay of a few minutes, which 
 were employed, I suppose, in composing their dress 
 by old Janet, the door was thrown open, and the chil- 
 dren made their appearance. They advanced accord- 
 ing to their ages, " wee Johnny" bringing up the 
 rear. The girls were dressed in white muslin frocks 
 and red sashes, with necklaces of blue beads. The
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 163 
 
 eldest looked half inclined to be bashful, half to be 
 forward, — the others only looked eagerly to the table 
 in search of the biscuits. 
 
 There was a sudden pause in the conversation as 
 they entered, and then a forced alacrity to welcome 
 and make room for them. Children are considered 
 by almost every one except their parents a dreadful 
 nuisance on such occasions, while civility requires the 
 guests to pay them some attention. They should 
 really never be intruded upon large mixed parties. A 
 damp seemed to fall upon the company, conversation 
 was interrupted, and more than one discussion post- 
 poned to a more convenient season, the parents and 
 children only appearing satisfied and at their ease. 
 Some formal remarks on the children's growth and 
 ages were made at the head of the table, and Mrs Sym- 
 ington and our hostess compared notes on the height, 
 temper, and inclinations of their different offspring, 
 each secretly claiming the superiority for her own. 
 A look of invitation from me brought Phemie timidly 
 to my side, — Johnny had stolen to his usual place 
 beside his mother, and the others were disposed of 
 among the company. A glass of currant wine was 
 then given to each of them, and by desire of their 
 smiling parents they were in turn compelled to drink 
 the company's good health, naming every individual 
 present, and assisted by Mr or Mrs Purdie when their 
 recollection failed them. 
 
 " How old is Johnny?" inquired Mrs Symington, 
 with an appearance of great interest.
 
 164 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 " Three years auld last November/' answered the 
 mother. 
 
 Mrs Symington was quite astonished. u Dear me ! 
 he 's very big of his age." 
 
 " He 's a very forward laddie of his years," strok- 
 ing down the hair of her favourite. " But ye have 
 such fine bairns, Mrs Symington, yoursel'. You can 
 repeat ' The Lord 's my shepherd,' and i How doth 
 the little busy bee,' already, — canna ye, Johnny?" 
 
 Johnny took no notice of this question, his atten- 
 tion being wholly engrossed by the contents of the 
 sugar canister which stood near. " Me some sugar, 
 mama," he asked, or rather demanded. 
 
 " Repeat the ' little busy bee' to Mrs Symington, 
 and you '11 get it," said the proud mother. 
 
 " Come, Johnny," said that lady in a coaxing tone. 
 
 " How doth the little," began Johnny, but stopping 
 suddenly, he whispered loud enough to be heard, 
 " Mama, Tarn 's gettin' sweeties from the gentleman." 
 
 " Whisht — and ye '11 may be get sweeties too," 
 said Mrs Purdie. 
 
 " But Tarn 's gettin' them a'," whimpered Johnny, 
 who, with finger in mouth, sat looking discontentedly 
 at his brother's luck. 
 
 u Tarn," said his mother coaxingly, anxious to 
 please her favourite, " there 's a good callant, gie 
 Johnny some o' your peppermint draps." 
 
 " I 've just got twa three," answered Tarn, who 
 was crunching as fast as he was able, " and I hae nane 
 to gie to Johnny."
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 165 
 
 " I am very sorry," said the gentleman, feeling 
 again in his pockets ; " but I fear" — The search was 
 without effect. 
 
 Here we were all startled by a howl from Johnny, 
 occasioned by his disappointment. 
 
 " Whisht, whisht, laddie," said his mother, some- 
 what ashamed of this exhibition, and endeavouring to 
 quiet him. " Whisht, like a gude bairn, and ye '11 
 get a penny the morn to buy peppermint draps." 
 But Johnny was deaf to her expostulations and pro- 
 mises (perhaps he had experienced the deceptive nature 
 of the latter) ; the noise of course put a stop to all con- 
 versation, and drew every one's attention to himself. 
 
 " Johnny, Johnny," said his father, knitting his 
 brows and looking up the table. 
 
 " For ony sake, Tarn," said his mother beseech- 
 ingly, " gie him the sweeties. Ye bad laddie, are ye 
 no ashamed roaring that way ? What will the com- 
 pany think of ye. Hold your tongue this minute, or 
 you '11 be sent out o' the room." All was of no avail 
 — the disturbance continued. 
 
 " What's this, Johnny?" at length inquired the 
 Eev. Dr. Dryscreed, who sat at the hostess' right 
 hand, holding up a halfpenny as he spoke. u What 
 is it?" again asked the doctor. 
 
 " It 's a bawbee," murmured Johnny, while smiles 
 returned to his countenance. 
 
 " And will ye greet ony mair if ye get it." 
 
 Johnny promised; and immediately clutched the 
 halfpenny, which he held up in triumph to Tom.
 
 166 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 " Dr Dryscreed 's owre kind to you," said the pleased 
 mother, " and you ought to beg the company's par- 
 don." To this Johnny turned a deaf ear while con- 
 templating his treasure. 
 
 " It 's a fine thing to greet," said Tarn spitefully, 
 who was in part to blame for the disturbance, and who 
 had now finished his peppermints. But he was si- 
 lenced by his mother. 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs Purdie, now addressing her 
 husband, who had returned when the disturbance was 
 over to his former conversation, — " My dear, I dinna 
 think you 're minding the punch-bowl. A' the glasses 
 are empty, and Mrs Symington and me (winking jo- 
 cosely to the other matron) dinna mean to content 
 ourselves with ane. Ye ken, Dr Dryscreed, ministers' 
 wives are privileged, — it 's a' vera weel for the young 
 leddies to be mim-mouthed, but we 're no to be put 
 off that way." 
 
 " You are quite right, mem," answered the doctor 
 in his formal pedantic manner, " the creature comforts 
 are not to be despised. I myself am not averse to a 
 quiet modicum at a time — quiet you know — (here the 
 doctor emptied his glass and pushed it towards Mr 
 Purdie) , and especially considering the care and trouble 
 you must have had in preparing this feast for us, I 
 would vote that you should be found entitled to ane 
 extra." 
 
 The doctor was not a long-winded man, so, having 
 delivered himself of this lengthy speech, he drew a deep 
 breath, and looked anxiously towards the punch-bowl.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 167 
 
 " Hout no, doctor — it 's a pleasure instead o' a 
 trouble, and ane extra, I doubt, might be ane owre 
 mony, — twa is the maist that I can ever take, for I 
 have na a strong head at ony time. Come, Mrs Sy- 
 mington, take off your glass, for it's awhile since the 
 minister drank the rising generation, and he 's been 
 winking and signing to me to move for the last five 
 minutes." 
 
 " Such nonsense, my dear, I only" 
 
 u Na, na, minister, ye needna deny 't ; but here 
 we 're awa, and ye '11 get to your cracks. Come awa 
 bairns, for ye mauna bide here ;" and marshalling her 
 brood before her, and followed by us, Mrs Purdie led 
 the way from the dining-room, greatly, as could be 
 easily perceived, to the satisfaction of those we left be- 
 hind us. 
 
 On our return to the parlour we were entertained 
 by an exhibition of the children's accomplishments. 
 Miss Purdie was desired by the complacent mother 
 (who doubted not but her guests were as delighted as 
 herself) to produce for inspection the " braw new shirt 
 she had just finished for her papa, made without help, 
 except the stitching of the collar and wristbands, and 
 the whipping up and sewing on of the frills." This 
 having received the proper meed of praise, was suc- 
 ceeded by some other performance : then Bella was 
 made to dance the Highland fling, which she had 
 learnt from one of the servants — a Highland girl — 
 consisting of various turnings and twistings, and per- 
 pendicular leaps in the air ; so that we had plenty of
 
 168 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 amusement, such as it was. The exhibition was closed 
 by the recital of " The Lord 's my shepherd/' and 
 " How doth the little busy bee," by Johnny, aided by 
 his mother in those parts in which his memory was 
 defective, which upon an average was once in every 
 second line. 
 
 Thus the evening wore on. The two matrons got 
 into close communication. The children romped, 
 quarrelled, were rebuked by their mother, and at last, 
 as they got sleepy, were despatched to bed, not, how- 
 ever, without much crying and resistance. Miss 
 Cochrane and I each occupied a corner of the sofa, 
 and occasionally exchanged a word, or yawned and 
 looked at the fire. She was impatient, I suppose, for 
 the re-appearance of the gentlemen, and I was anxious 
 for my father's, that we might get home. 
 
 Joyful was the sound of the breaking up of the 
 revels in the dining-room, whose distant echoes had 
 all along been in our ears, and at length in came the 
 reverend presbytery by twos or threes at a time, most 
 of them very red in the face, and each rubbing his 
 hands, as if he felt the night very cold. 
 
 " Here we are at last, gudewife," said Mr Purdie, 
 who seemed in a high state of glee, advancing to 
 where his spouse was seated by Mrs Symington, 
 " come to get a cup o' your tea, to do awa the ill 
 effects o' the toddy." 
 
 " Deed, minister, we were just thinking ye seemed 
 owre fond o' the toddy bowl to quit it the night. But 
 ye 7 se get your tea, — it 's been masket an hour since,
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 169 
 
 and we 're a' wearying for it ;" and rising from her 
 seat, she bustled to the tea-kettle, where the tea- 
 things had been displayed, as she said, for more than 
 an hour. 
 
 The room was small, — the party filled it to over- 
 floAving. A perfect Babel of tongues arose in it, for 
 almost every one talked, and few seemed inclined to 
 listen, — the effects of the toddy were apparent. The 
 old gentleman, my dinner companion, as if to make 
 amends for his former shortness, sat down by me, and 
 endeavoured to entertain me by a disquisition on 
 church law, in reference to a case then under the con- 
 sideration of the presbytery. He went by the nick- 
 name of " Slow John," — and prosy enough he was to 
 be sure. I was beginning sadly to weary for our 
 departure, vainly endeavouring to catch my father's 
 eye, who was quietly conversing in a corner with Mr 
 Patterson, when happily the servant opened the door, 
 and announced with a titter that " Mr Douglas's ser- 
 vant had said he wad wait nae langer." 
 
 " Eose, are you ready?" said my father. I rose 
 immediately, too glad to go, to mind the message 
 which excited some mirth. I bade the company 
 good night, resisting Mr and Mrs Purdie's pressing 
 invitation to wait " just another hour," and was soon 
 seated in the cart by my father. John was very dis- 
 contented at being made to wait so long, and scarcely 
 spoke as he helped us in. How glad I was to hear 
 the branches of the trees rustling on the top of the 
 cart, as it moved along to the gate. We turned out
 
 170 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 of the entrance; the long road was before us, and 
 the fresh air blew into the cart — it was so sweet 
 after the fumes of the toddy! The change from 
 the din and confusion we had left, to the quiet and 
 solitude of the road, was most refreshing. There was 
 no moon, but there was star-light; and the horse, 
 conscious he was returning to his own stable, moved 
 briskly on. I was happy to be once more alone with 
 my father. I felt how superior he was to most of 
 those we had left. 
 
 My father informed me on our way home that he 
 and Dr Dryscreed had been appointed by the presby- 
 tery to attend the General Assembly of the Kirk, in 
 Edinburgh, in the ensuing month.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 171 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 And there were rooms, both large and small, and turrets not a few ; 
 And dusky holes, and corners queer, that scarce the housemaid knew ; 
 And ghostly chambers, lock'd and barr'd, with low o'erarching doors ; 
 And rusty mail, and antlers huge, and spears, and polished floors. 
 
 The period when the General Assembly of the Kirk 
 of Scotland meets, is in the latter end of the month of 
 May. I would have liked exceedingly to accompany 
 my father to Edinburgh ; for I had never seen our 
 Scottish metropolis. Indeed, I had only been once in 
 Glasgow, when my father took me to visit my aunt, 
 who was his only sister, and married there. I knew, 
 however, that he could ill afford any extra expense, and 
 I kept my wishes secret. He had lived so long and 
 constantly in the country, as to have dropped acquaint- 
 ance with all his old friends, and he was too reserved 
 a man to make new ones ; so he had no alternative 
 but to live in lodgings during the assembly time. 
 My company would thus have been (not to mention 
 the additional expense) an encumbrance to him, as 
 there was no one he could have intrusted me to while 
 engaged in his duties. So, after he had once alluded
 
 172 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 to this, which showed me he had been considering it, 
 the subject was mentioned no more. 
 
 My father gave me many charges before he left 
 home. I was to visit the sick in his absence, and 
 more particularly two or three old women, who were 
 so blind, through age and infirmity, as to be unable 
 to read. I was to pay attention to the preacher who 
 had agreed to supply the pulpit during his stay in 
 Edinburgh, and I was to take his place in the Sab- 
 bath school ; all which I readily promised to do, 
 though with a heavy heart, as I looked forward to our 
 separation for more than one week. 
 
 I had seldom been separated from my father. It 
 was some years since he had formerly been appointed 
 a member of assembly, and I was little more than a 
 child at that time. Since then he had rarely been 
 absent a night from his own roof, and we had lived 
 in such close companionship, that I did not know how 
 I would get on alone.^ 
 
 It was early on a Tuesday morning that my father 
 set off for Edinburgh. Dr Dryscreed, the minister of 
 Drumsheugh, was to be his companion to the assem- 
 bly, and it had been agreed that they should travel in 
 the latter's covered cart together till they reached the 
 city, where lodgings were already engaged for them 
 through some friend of the doctor's. 
 
 My father left home on horseback, — John accom- 
 panying him on foot to bring back the horse when 
 they had reached Drumsheugh manse. His small 
 valise was fastened behind the saddle. I was rather
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 173 
 
 anxious about my father's health, for he had been 
 suffering from a severe cold for some time ; but I 
 comforted myself with the hope that the change of air 
 might do him good. 
 
 He embraced me with much affection, and bidding 
 God bless me, he went on his journey. I mounted 
 hastily to the highest window in the house which 
 commanded a view of the road, and watched the 
 travellers till a turn in it near the Craiglands 
 gate hid them from my sight. My heart felt very 
 sad as I left the window, and thought of the weary 
 days that must pass before I could see him again. 
 But I endeavoured to shake it off, and therefore set 
 about my usual employments ; however, these on a 
 sudden had turned distasteful. 
 
 It was a melancholy day to me. I could scarcely 
 bear to sit down to my solitary meals. These were 
 in general the liveliest moments of our quiet day, for 
 my father then liked me to chat to him, and I felt the 
 contrast. 
 
 I took out my work and sat down in my usual seat 
 by the open window. The bees were buzzing in the 
 blossoms on the walls, the birds were singing merrily 
 about me, and the perfume of the early flowers was 
 very sweet. But I was sad. There was no sound 
 within the house save the ticking of the old clock that 
 stood on the staircase, or the murmur of the servants' 
 voices in the kitchen. My feelings threw a cloud 
 over every thing : the sunshine seemed less bright 
 than usual, the twittering of the birds annoyed me,
 
 174 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 and I could take no pleasure in the flowers. At last, 
 Nanny, as she went through the rooms up stairs about 
 her work, began to sing ; but instead of the lively airs 
 she usually carolled, she now chose some melancholy 
 ditty, which unconsciously filled my eyes with tears. 
 To tell the truth, I had been a spoiled child from my 
 birth, and had been trained with such tenderness as 
 to render me almost ignorant of what privation of any 
 kind was. I was therefore easily overset. 
 
 I in vain tried to get interested in my customary 
 occupations ; they had all grown dull and irksome. 
 I at last therefore gave up all thought of work, and 
 spent most of the day in wandering about the garden 
 with a book, or in listless attempts at trimming the 
 flower-beds. I missed John's company — I could have 
 talked to him. This will never do, I at length said ; 
 I must not allow myself to get dispirited. To-morrow 
 I must arrange some plan of employment which will 
 at least keep me occupied. I will begin, as my father 
 wished me, to visit. 
 
 The mere forming of this resolution renewed my 
 spirits in some measure ; I felt the better of it. 
 
 After taking an early tea, I all at once resolved to 
 go over to the Craiglands. Owing to the preparations 
 for my father's departure, I had not seen my old friend 
 Mrs Johnstone for some days, nor paid a visit to the 
 library. I knew the good woman would be wearying 
 to see me, as I seldom allowed so long a time to 
 elapse without visiting her. She had suffered a great 
 deal from her rheumatisms during the past winter, and
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 175 
 
 did not often venture out of doors ; so she depended 
 very much upon me for society, as Mysie and Bauldy, 
 the two old servants, were scarce fit companions for her. 
 
 I felt it was the best way in which I could spend 
 the first evening of my solitude ; so I prepared for my 
 walk. 
 
 I pursued my way to the Crai glands with spirits 
 considerably renovated. I found the depression which 
 had hung about me all day gradually yield beneath 
 the influence of exercise and breezy air. It was still 
 early in the evening, and wanted some time of sunset. 
 The trees which overshadowed the solitary road were 
 beautiful in their first fresh greenness, and underneath 
 the beechen hedge was a profusion of primroses and 
 violets gleaming from among the grass. 
 
 It was a lovely hedge that. It lay in so snug and 
 sheltered a nook, that its leaves were always expanded 
 when others in more open situations had theirs still 
 wrapped up in their coats ; and the small bank 
 beneath it was as smooth and green as if the fairies 
 held court there. 
 
 I soon reached the old-fashioned gateway of the 
 Craiglands. A small wicket on one side was alone 
 left unfastened to admit foot-passengers, who were the 
 only visiters that now made their appearance at the 
 house, and pushing it open, I continued my walk 
 down the dim and grass-grown avenue. This path 
 was as familiar to me as one of our own garden walks, 
 and I loved it much. It was a favourite and constant 
 haunt of mine.
 
 176 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 I loved to wander beneath the twilight-gloom of 
 those majestic trees, whose hoary branches were so 
 interlaced overhead as to make the sky invisible 
 even at noonday. Even the neglect, apparent as it 
 was, gave (at least I thought so) a greater charm to 
 the walk. I could sit contentedly for hours at the 
 root of one of these old fantastic trees, watching 
 the sunbeams flickering between the boughs, and 
 streaking in bright patches the moss-grown road, 
 indulging in some poet's dream too fanciful and dis- 
 jointed for after-remembrance. Oh ! it was such a 
 place for musing in on some still, hot summer's day. 
 There was such a soughing in the twisted boughs of 
 the huge Scotch firs which were scattered among the 
 other trees, and such a delicious murmur from the 
 many hidden streams which were wandering on to 
 meet the Clyde, that one's eyes involuntarily closed 
 under their soothing influence. Once, when I was 
 only twelve years old, Mrs Johnstone found me sound 
 asleep at the foot of one of these firs. She always 
 called it afterwards, " Kose's Cradle." 
 
 There is something peculiarly solemn and impres- 
 sive in the aspect of ancient trees, especially those 
 which surround the dwellings of the great and the 
 nobly descended. Their antiquity leads the mind 
 back, back, through a long course of vanished ages to 
 the time when they were in their infancy. They 
 speak to us of mighty changes, of great and important 
 revolutions, not only in the fortunes of families, but 
 convulsing empires ; and these lordly relics live on
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 177 
 
 amidst them all. They see generation after genera- 
 tion of the masters who own them pass away, and 
 they rear their heads as grandly and as proudly as 
 ever. Compared with us puny short-lived mortals, 
 they represent eternity. How solemn is the aspect 
 of trees ! 
 
 I grew more and more thoughtful as I wandered 
 on beneath their shade. Before me, at the termina- 
 tion of the long avenue, but half hidden by drooping 
 branches, was the front of the Craiglands house. The 
 brilliant light of the evening sun was gleaming on 
 the small narrow windows, and rested in one bright 
 patch on the grass below. It was a striking picture 
 set in the dark frame of the trees : I stopped to 
 gaze upon it. All was dim obscurity where I stood, 
 but there before me lay that bright sunny spot, 
 sending a ray of light down the avenue like the 
 glance of an eye. I thought I had never looked on 
 any scene half so beautiful or tranquil, and yet it 
 was deserted. How I pitied the possessor ; and those 
 too who had once inhabited these empty chambers, 
 who had wandered beneath these trees — Where were 
 they? 
 
 It is often in such scenes as this that we are forcibly 
 brought to contemplate the briefness and uncertainty 
 of life ; all around is so full of a former time in which 
 we had no participation, no existence. An ancient 
 mansion-house, especially if it be deserted by its 
 owner, preaches a most impressive sermon. But I 
 must not keep you all night in the avenue. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 Such reflections suggested themselves to my mind 
 as I walked leisurely on. I was in a mood this night 
 akin to all sad thoughts, but still it was a kind of 
 pleasing sadness which I rather liked to encourage. 
 I was willing to prolong the pleasure I always felt in 
 being here ; all was so still and tranquil as to invite 
 one to meditation. Occasionally the low chirp of some 
 bird in the branches far overhead broke on the deli- 
 cious quiet without disturbing it ; or the faint breeze, 
 which the evening had awakened, rustled gently 
 among the tree-tops ; but no ruder sound was to be 
 heard. 
 
 I was now in the vicinity of the house, but I felt 
 rather disinclined to seek Mrs Johnstone's parlour 
 immediately, so I resolved to make my first visit to 
 the library : this I could easily accomplish unobserved 
 in such an old scrambling house, the servants' rooms 
 being in a remote part of the building. 
 
 Turning therefore from the avenue into a green 
 formal walk, sheltered by high hedges of dark holly, 
 I soon emerged through a low arch cut in the hedge 
 to the right upon a little turf esplanade on the east 
 side of the house. This part of the building was 
 entirely covered with old and most luxuriant ivy. 
 Placing my foot on a sturdy branch, which I had often 
 before made use of for the same purpose, I succeeded 
 in throwing open a window, which I well knew was 
 unfastened, as the clasp of the shutter was broke. I 
 then clambered with the help of my hands upon the 
 sill, and stepping lightly down, I was in the dining-
 
 , ROSE DOUGLAS. 179 
 
 room of the mansion, an ancient apartment, most 
 dreary-looking at present, as the carpet was of course 
 up and the furniture somewhat scanty. 
 
 The library was on another floor ; so, after carefully 
 shutting the window by which I had entered, and 
 closing the shutters, I groped my way out of the room 
 till I reached the entrance-hall, a gloomy place hung 
 with old armour, on which it opened. I proceeded 
 from this into a low-arched stone passage, where the 
 damp had stained the walls with blotches, and soon 
 reached a back staircase, which I ascended ; the faint 
 yelping of a cur in the court behind, upon which the 
 staircase window looked, being the first sound of life 
 I had heard about the place, which to a stranger might 
 have seemed altogether uninhabited. 
 
 As I expected I met no one; and, after having 
 followed some of those windings and turnings peculiar 
 to most old houses, I reached the library. The heavy 
 door was ajar, as I had myself probably left it, and 
 pushing it open I entered. 
 
 1 had only advanced a few steps into the room 
 when I paused, struck by an unusual appearance 
 in its arrangements, and for some moments I stood 
 gazing around me in breathless surprise. There were 
 the embers of a fire within the rusty grate, unconsci- 
 ous of warmth for many a day, a faded and ill fitting 
 carpet was spread upon the uneven boards, books and 
 papers were scattered about, and the apartment had 
 all the appearance of having been occupied, and that 
 recently. One of the large unwieldy chairs, which
 
 180 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 had hitherto seemed to me glued to the floor, from my 
 never having seen them moved, was drawn close to 
 the table, on which were writing materials. 
 
 Such a change in the hitherto gloomy and deserted 
 chamber had all the effect of magical surprise upon 
 me: I could almost have doubted the truth of my 
 eyesight. Whose influence could have effected this ? 
 It was impossible that the good old housekeeper had 
 been seized with a desire to study, especially in an 
 apartment of which ten minutes' occupancy would 
 have secured her an attack of rheumatism that would 
 have lasted for a week ; as little could it be old Bauldy, 
 the gardener or universal factotum about the place ; 
 or Mysie, with whose superstitious fears I was well 
 acquainted. A thousand vague and unsatisfactory 
 conjectures crossed my mind. Long as I had been in 
 the habit of visiting this room, it had never till now 
 worn any appearance but that of cold dull desertion : 
 it had always seemed my own exclusive property, for 
 no claimant had ever appeared to dispute my right, 
 and its charms, I thought, were known to me only ; 
 but this was the case no longer, and I gazed around 
 me in search of the rival who had taken possession of 
 my favourite retreat. 
 
 There was, however, no one but myself in the 
 room. As I stood musing thus, a sudden idea darted 
 into my mind, which seemed satisfactorily to solve 
 the mystery : I never thought of the arrival of any of 
 the family, for such a thing had never happened in 
 my recollection. But I remembered that this was
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 181 
 
 just the time of year when the writer who managed 
 the estate, and who lived in the county town, usually 
 paid a visit to the house, to arrange accounts with 
 Mrs Johnstone and look after the condition of the 
 place. 
 
 As soon as this idea occurred to me I felt perfectly 
 satisfied. To be sure, the library was the last place 
 I would have expected Mr Grainger to occupy. Mrs 
 Johnstone's comfortable parlour, I should have thought, 
 possessed more charms for one of his appearance and 
 social habits. But this proved that I was mistaken in 
 my idea of the man ; and really, now that the warmth 
 of the fire had dispelled the damp chilliness of the 
 apartment, and the room was put into better order, it 
 did not look so desolate a place after all. The factor 
 deserved commendation for his taste and literary pro- 
 pensities. He was evidently a different sort of person 
 from what I had supposed, — in short, one who, though 
 necessarily engaged by the dull routine of business, 
 was still capable of appreciating the sweets of learning 
 and calm retirement. He had doubtless chosen to sit 
 in the library for the means it afforded of uniting la- 
 bour with amusement. 
 
 Certain, however, from the lateness of the hour that 
 the factor had yielded possession, and was on his way 
 back to his domicile in the town, I had now no hesi- 
 tation in entering the room, whose improved appear- 
 ance I contemplated with much satisfaction. I thought 
 it fortunate that I had come this evening. I raked up 
 the slumbering embers into a blaze, which I fed with
 
 182 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 some coals which had thoughtfully been left on the 
 hearth for the purpose ; and throwing down my bon- 
 net on the table, I sought for the book I wanted, and 
 soon established myself comfortably in one of the win- 
 dow recesses. As I did so, I could not help smiling 
 as the idea of Mysie, perhaps, entering to extinguish 
 the fire occurred to my imagination. Whether I would 
 figure as a ghost or a brownie was uncertain. 
 
 The room distinguished by the name of library at 
 the Craiglands was, like most of the other apartments 
 in the house, ancient and gloomy. The bookcases, 
 which filled one side of the room, were of dark oak, as 
 was the wainscot, which was in panels. The windows 
 were three in number — they were both narrow and 
 deep, and overrun with ivy ; so, what with the darkness 
 of the wood- work, and the little light which the win- 
 dows admitted, a certain obscurity reigned here even 
 at noonday. It was a very paradise for a contempla- 
 tive mind. 
 
 Scanty crimson hangings, very much faded, hung 
 round the recess of each window, with the dust of years 
 clinging to them. Some tottering yet unwieldy tables 
 and chairs (the latter having cushions of the same ma- 
 terial as the curtains) composed the furniture. 
 
 In one corner, however, of the room stood what had 
 once been to me an object of great awe. It was a 
 clock-case of most peculiar form — it looked like an 
 upright mummy. The shape was precisely similar, 
 narrow at the foot and gradually swelling upwards. 
 The face of the clock, too, bore a striking resemblance,
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 183 
 
 at a short distance, especially when aided by twilight, 
 to the countenance of a human being. This piece of 
 furniture had once been richly gilt, but years had 
 dimmed its brightness, not to mention the damps of 
 the apartment, and its hue was now nearly as dark as 
 the wall against which it stood. It was called in the 
 neighbourhood the u Crawford Coffin;" and many a 
 fearful tale had my childhood heard connected with it. 
 It had been seen, or was reported to have been seen, 
 in other parts of the house at the dead of night ; and 
 one old servant was positive to having met it in the 
 very stone passage by which I had reached the library. 
 But as old Matthew was seldom sober after night- 
 fall, perhaps his testimony was not much to be de- 
 pended on. 
 
 With what fear and trembling did I use to regard 
 it when a child, and then hurry away, terrified, that 
 by lingering, it should fall to my lot to be the last to 
 leave the room ; and how often have I awakened in 
 the night, after dreaming about it, and fancied that it 
 stood beside my curtains ! As years wore on, however, 
 I lost my awe for the old clock, though sometimes in 
 a dark evening, when I had unconsciously sat reading- 
 long in the library, I have felt a passing emotion, not 
 perhaps quite of fear, but something akin to it, impos- 
 sible to describe, (arising, I suppose, from old associa- 
 tions), as its dark unearthly shape stood only half 
 revealed in the twilight, while I passed near it on my 
 way from the room. What fools obi imaginations 
 sometimes make of us!
 
 184 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 All that I shall say more of the library in descrip- 
 tion is, that from its quietness and seclusion it was 
 admirably calculated for study. Two of its windows 
 looked out upon a retired grass-grown alley of the al- 
 most deserted garden, and the remaining one upon a 
 clump of lofty trees, whose branches approached so 
 near as almost to touch the glass. It was so far removed 
 from any noise, even the little necessarily made by 
 the small household, that the fall of a leaf, or the twit- 
 tering of the swallows outside, or the buzzing of a 
 blue-bottle fly, which had somehow found its way 
 within, were most distinctly heard amid the stillness 
 which reigned in the apartment. 
 
 In this room then did I continue to linger a longer 
 period than I was myself aware of. No one had ap- 
 peared to interrupt me, so my conjecture as to the fac- 
 tor's departure was probably well founded. Mysie was 
 content to let the fire go out itself : it certainly would 
 have been an unavoidable necessity that would have 
 brought her to the library at nightfall. 
 
 The book with which I was engaged was unusu- 
 ally interesting, — it was Dante's Inferno. I had long 
 ago finished the romances (indeed it did not take 
 much time to do so in the way I read them), but 
 I had only lately discovered a copy of this noble poem 
 (dreadfully mildewed some of its leaves were), and 
 being able, thanks to my father, to read Italian easily, 
 I had instantly commenced its perusal. I might have 
 carried it home of course and finished it there, but 
 there was a charm in those readings in the lonely
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 185 
 
 library which I never could resist, and I preferred 
 leaving my book behind me. I could sit and dream 
 here undisturbed, which I could not so well do at home : 
 besides, there was a romantic interest about the dreary 
 empty old mansion, which my little room at the manse 
 had no claim to. 
 
 I was so occupied by the work, so fascinated by 
 the awful scenes so vividly depicted, that an hour and 
 a half had glided by without my being sensible of the 
 flight of time. The twilight was fast fading away 
 into greyer and greyer hues ; but I only drew closer to 
 the window, and, unless the light altogether failed 
 me, was not likely to return my book to the shelf for 
 some time yet. Another and another page was yet 
 turned, and I took no note how the moments were 
 flying. I had quite forgotten my intended visit to Mrs 
 Johnstone. And yet the nature of the work which I was 
 perusing might, from its exciting effect upon the ima- 
 gination, have disposed me to hurry away from such 
 a lonely and fancy- stirring spot. But it did not : it 
 rather caused me to forget myself, and the eeriness of 
 my situation. I was absorbed in my book, — my in- 
 dividuality was lost for the time. 
 
 I was too intent upon the horrors of the Unseen 
 and the Eternal to think of the lateness of the hour, 
 and the gloomy staircase and passages I had to tra- 
 verse before I could reach the inhabited part of the 
 house. I read on and on, annoyed at the dimness of 
 the light, unwilling to move, but yet beginning to be 
 somewhat sensible of the necessity for leaving. Still
 
 186 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 no nervous feeling intruded itself, though my situation 
 in that room was nearly as wild and solitary, and as 
 remote from human protection, as could almost be 
 found anywhere. 
 
 The room was enveloped in shadow. I forget now 
 the exact passage of the poem at which I had arrived ; 
 but it happened, I recollect, just as I had reached 
 (straining my eyes of course) a most exciting portion 
 of it, well calculated to fill the soul with vague and 
 shadowy horrors, and just as I for the first time raised 
 my eyes to cast a timorous look around the darkening 
 room, that my attention was suddenly and fearfully 
 arrested by a noise within, or in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood of it. 
 
 From its sequestered situation, I suppose, as well 
 as from another circumstance I have already men- 
 tioned, the library had obtained an evil reputation. 
 Every old house, indeed, has such traditions, at least 
 few escape them. I had often heard that the library, 
 or some room immediately adjoining to it, was 
 haunted ; but long familiarity, and a sound practical 
 education, had banished my early fears ; and but for 
 the occasional warnings of the servants, I might have 
 entirely forgotten it. Now, however, the old tale 
 flashed upon my previously excited mind, — all the 
 hints and mysterious allusions of. the old crone in the 
 kitchen, and even the reluctant consent of Mrs John- 
 stone to my occupying this apartment. T had never 
 remained so late in it before ; and now, as I thought 
 of its solitude, and the great distance T was from all
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 187 
 
 human help, I felt my blood grow cold in my veins. 
 I was afraid to remain ; but I was as much afraid to 
 leave my position, lest some frightful and unearthly 
 vision might cross my path, and turn me into stone. 
 I sat still, therefore, for some moments in the window, 
 my heart beating so fast as to be nearly audible. 
 
 I at last summoned resolution enough to turn my 
 head and look towards the door, which was the direc- 
 tion from whence the sound had proceeded. Oh ! 
 how were my fears confirmed ! What were my alarm 
 and terror when, through the gloom which surrounded 
 me, I could distinctly observe a figure advancing cau- 
 tiously and silently (gliding it seemed to me) across 
 the apartment ! Scarcely conscious of what I did, in 
 the agony and mortal terror of the moment, I started 
 from my seat. I would have screamed for aid (though 
 what aid was nigh ?) but utterance was denied to me : 
 my eyes were strained on the figure whose outline 
 was alone visible in the rapidly deepening obscurity 
 of the evening, with a dreadful intensity (if it had 
 been to save my life I do not think I could have 
 withdrawn them) ; every sense was lost in the terror 
 of the moment ; the book fell from my powerless hand 
 with a crash upon the floor, and the place of my con- 
 cealment was revealed. A cold perspiration burst 
 from every pore : I was nearly fainting. 
 
 The phantom (if phantom it was) seemed arrested 
 by the sudden noise made by the falling of the book. 
 It remained motionless in the centre of the room, 
 being nearly opposite to where I stood (my figure
 
 188 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 clearly defined against the window-panes), and I felt 
 that its eyes, though I could not see them, were fixed 
 upon me. A few moments, that seemed like hours in 
 my apprehension, passed in silence. 
 
 " Who is there?" at length demanded a manly 
 authoritative voice, that sounded in my ears like the 
 call of a trumpet. It was anything but ghostly in its 
 tones. 
 
 Oh ! the intense relief of that moment. I instantly 
 felt that the being before me, whoever he was, was 
 yet mortal like myself; and the revulsion of feeling 
 was so great as to keep me for some brief instants 
 insensible to the strangeness of my position, alone in 
 such a place with an utter stranger. I was quickly 
 made conscious of it, however, by a repetition of the 
 question put in a still more determined key. And 
 now I felt all the awkwardness of my situation. 
 
 I did not know what to answer. What could I, 
 indeed, ignorant of who my interrogator was ? So I 
 only trembled from head to foot, and was silent. How 
 I now bitterly regretted the freak which had placed 
 me in such a predicament ! The stranger, from his 
 tone, evidently felt he had a right to the room. This 
 now explained the mystery of the fire, and the un- 
 usual preparation of the apartment, which I had so 
 satisfactorily accounted for, as I then imagined. I 
 must always be so hasty and decided in everything. 
 
 As no answer was returned to the stranger's sum- 
 mons, he seemed to hesitate whether to advance nearer 
 to the motionless figure, which must have startled him
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 189 
 
 as much as his unlooked-for appearance had alarmed 
 me. I continued standing silent and embarrassed in 
 the deep recess of the window into which I had shrunk 
 at first. Luckily the increasing darkness favoured me 
 by effectually concealing my features. I was hur- 
 riedly considering. I had not much time, you may 
 be sure, for reflection, for all that I have narrated 
 took place in a very few minutes ; but I was mentally 
 considering whether I had best tell who I was, and my 
 reasons for being discovered here, or make a bold 
 rush for the door at once. The latter was doubtless 
 distressing, and the stranger I was afraid might in- 
 tercept me in my flight, as he was nearer to the door 
 than I : still I could not bring my mind nor my lips 
 (if it was brought) to the former. 
 
 The stranger was evidently waxing impatient. 
 Whether he took me for a spirit or a madwoman, 
 who had some way contrived to admit herself, I 
 know not. But at length he made a hasty movement 
 towards the corner where the bell was ; and seeing 
 the way clear, I no longer hesitated. I darted across 
 the apartment, and reached the door just as a vigorous 
 pull at the wire resounded through the house, and 
 flying like a bird through the passages, and down the 
 staircase, I arrived at Mrs Johnstone's room, which I 
 entered, panting for breath, and secured the bolt, 
 greatly to the astonishment, and not a little to the 
 alarm, of its inmate, who was plying her customary 
 thrift by the fire. 
 
 My first emotion, after accomplishing this involun-
 
 190 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 tary act of security, was to laugh heartily ; my next 
 was to throw myself into a seat and indulge in a burst 
 of tears, the result of my overstrung nerves. These 
 changes appeared greatly to perplex the old house- 
 keeper, and she gazed on me with a half-bewildered 
 air, as if my appearance and the emotions I gave way 
 to were both alike incomprehensible to her. Her air 
 of perplexity had the effect, after the first minute, of 
 re-animating my spirits, and I could not help smiling 
 as I wiped my eyes. 
 
 u Do not be frightened, Mrs Johnstone," I said, 
 half crying, half laughing, as I spoke : " nothing is 
 the matter." 
 
 "What has happened? — What have you been 
 about?" asked the old woman anxiously, only half 
 satisfied by my assurance. 
 
 " I have only got a fright," I answered. " I was 
 in the library" 
 
 " Deary me!" exclaimed Mrs Johnstone, holding 
 up both her hands ; " you must have seen the young 
 laird." 
 
 " Seen whom — who did you say ?" I asked eagerly, 
 scarcely believing my own ears. 
 
 " Sir Robert's son — young Mr Crawford. Did 
 you no hear he had come?" 
 
 " No, I did not. — How strange ! I can scarcely 
 believe you are in earnest." 
 
 " Deed am I — nae wonder though that ye look sae 
 astonished ; it 's been a surprise to us a'. He arrived 
 last night without notice o' ony kind ; sae he had to
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 191 
 
 leave his groom wi' the horses at the gate till he came 
 down to the house himself and sent somebody to un- 
 lock it, and " 
 
 " Oh ! Mrs Johnstone," I exclaimed, interrupt- 
 ing her — all the circumstances of my encounter with 
 him in the library rushing into my mind — "what 
 will he think of me ? — what can he think of me sitting 
 composedly in his room?" 
 
 The idea of having been discovered by the master 
 of the house seated in calm and apparently rightful 
 possession in the apartment he had appropriated to his 
 own use, filled me with distress and shame. The only 
 ray of comfort left me was, that it had been too dark 
 to enable him to discern my features ; yet he would 
 doubtless ascertain who I was. 
 
 " But what took you there?" said Mrs Johnstone : 
 " this will be some of your tricks now, Rose, of speelin' 
 in at windows, like what you did langsyne, when you 
 wanted to terrify Mysie, silly thing, and make her 
 believe she saw ghaists in the dark passages. Take 
 care ye dinna get a fright in good earnest yoursel' 
 some o' these days ,* and speakin' o' that, ye maun 
 draw back the snib of the door again. But, as I was 
 saying, we got a great surprise wi' Mr Crawford's 
 coming ; for wha was ever to think o' ony o' the family 
 that haena been here for sae mony years giein' a body 
 a start at last. Every thing was to do, and little time 
 to do it in. I thought once o' sending owre to the 
 manse for the loan o' Nanny, for Mysie 's unco 
 feckless now, and was clean upset wi' the flurry — no
 
 192 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 that I was muckle better mysel' ; but I had naebody 
 to send, for Bauldy he was awa to the town for a lade 
 o' meal, and I couldna ask the strange groom, — forby 
 that, he didna ken the road, so we e'en did the best 
 we could ; and Mr Crawford, I must say, is easily 
 pleased for a gentleman, for he had baith a bad supper 
 and an ill-aired bed, though I took care the sheets 
 were weel toasted. Weel, after a', it 's a heartsome 
 thing to see that the family haena quite forgotten the 
 auld place. I can tell Sir Robert Crawford, and ithers 
 like him, that it 's a disheartening thing to them 
 under them, to leave to others what they should look 
 after themselves — a master's eye does muckle good." 
 
 I inquired what kind of looking person he was. 
 
 " Oh, he's a weel-favoured young gentleman," re- 
 plied the housekeeper, — " a bonny sight brawer than 
 was his father at his age ; but Sir Robert was never what 
 you could ca' a handsome man. But you will doubt- 
 less see him at the kirk on Sabbath. I hear we 're 
 to have a young hand instead of your father, honest 
 man. Weel, I will weary for his coming hame again : 
 the place someway disna seem the same when he 's 
 awa." 
 
 As the housekeeper was rarely out of doors, and 
 seldom saw my father except on Sabbaths, it was not 
 very clear how she could miss his society. But yet 
 she sincerely felt what she said. 
 
 " And how are ye getting on, hinny, yoursel' in his 
 absence ? — but ye haena had much experience o' it 
 yet. I hope, Rose dear, you winna do anything sae
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 193 
 
 daftlike again, as speel in at that window when you 
 hae a door to enter by. And that's true, I will 
 send for Shavings the wright the morn, and see to get 
 it mended. As you say, what would Mr Crawford 
 think o' ye? Dinna you think — But what's that 
 awfu' ringing ? I hae heard it twice owre. Whaur 
 can Mysie be?" 
 
 As she spoke, there was an alarm-peal sent through 
 the house which might have awakened the dead as 
 well as Mysie, whose deafness was proverbial. I 
 wondered it did not break the old rusty wire. 
 
 Having little doubt that the summons related to 
 myself, I started up, and would instantly have left 
 the house where I had caused such disturbance ; but 
 my purpose was prevented by Mrs Johnstone, who, 
 while she held forth her hand to arrest my progress, 
 remained in an attitude of listening. In a few seconds 
 the shuffling of Mysie's cloth shoes was heard in the 
 passage, the peal having succeeded this time in reach- 
 ing even her dull ears. Then there was a pause, 
 while I suppose she was undergoing an examination 
 on my unaccountable appearance in the library. 
 
 " He '11 be sending for me next," said the house- 
 keeper, smoothing down her white apron in prepara- 
 tion for a summons. " And what am I to say, 
 Rose?" I earnestly implored her not to betray me. 
 
 " I '11 try, my dear, but I dinna ken what to say. 
 
 Mysie will be putting it a 1 to the account of a ghaist ; 
 
 and, to be sure, the library 's a queer place, for a' that 
 
 ye 're sae fond o' sitting in it. Auld Rab Scott, 
 
 vol. i. x
 
 194 HOSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 that 7 s dead and gane, and was body-servant to the 
 present Sir Robert's father, had mony a strange story 
 to tell about it, for he was lang about the house, and 
 kent a' the family stories. I hae heard Rab say — 
 but there 's Mysie now." 
 
 As she spoke the door was hastily opened, but in- 
 stead of the old kitchen-servant there entered sud- 
 denly into the room a gentleman who could, I knew, 
 be no other than Mr Crawford himself. 
 
 " Pray, Mrs Johnstone, can you tell me" — he began 
 abruptly, when his eye lighting upon me where I sat 
 overcome with surprise and confusion at his unex- 
 pected entrance, he stopped short. 
 
 "Were you wanting anything, sir?" said the 
 housekeeper rising and looking nearly as confused as 
 I was. 
 
 " Yes — no — that is, I wished to speak with you, 
 but another time will do as well," said the young 
 man retreating as he spoke, but not without casting, 
 as I could observe, an inquisitive look towards me. 
 Supposing I heard the door shut, I turned my head 
 rather hastily round : it was only in the act of clos- 
 ing, and I blushed deeply as my eyes encountered the 
 fixed gaze of the gentleman's. 
 
 When we were again alone, Mrs Johnstone affected 
 to condole with me in my chagrin ; but she was evi- 
 dently far more inclined to laugh at the occurrences 
 of the evening than to sympathize with me. So 
 mortified was I that I nearly made a vow never more 
 to enter the library, whose unlucky attractions were
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 195 
 
 the cause of my distress. I was angry with myself — 
 I had behaved like a fool, or, which was as bad, a 
 mere hoydenish romping girl, and I was sure Mr 
 Crawford must despise me. 
 
 Mysie now entered, full of the wonderful intelli- 
 gence of what had been seen that night in the library 
 — the poor creature looked terrified and uncomfort- 
 able. She was somewhat surprised to see me with 
 Mrs Johnstone. We thought it but right to relieve 
 her mind, by informing her of the truth, and with a 
 brightened face she returned to her kitchen. 
 
 I now thought it time to return home, but suddenly 
 remembered that in my hurried flight from the library 
 I had left my bonnet behind me. 
 
 " I '11 tell you what, Rose," said the old woman 
 kindly, who must have observed the vexation painted 
 in my countenance, " I '11 e'en go up to the library 
 for your bonnet, and when I 'm there, as it canna be 
 hidden now, I '11 just tell Mr Crawford how it a' hap- 
 pened, and how you came to be in the library un- 
 kent. So sit ye there, like a good bairn, till I come 
 back, and I 'se warrant I '11 make a' right." 
 
 She left the room accordingly, carrying a pair of 
 candles with her to serve as an excuse for entering the 
 room. In about a quarter of an hour she returned. There 
 was a smile on her face as she appeared. " There \s 
 your bonnet, my dear," she said, " and awa hame 
 wi 1 ye — and think nae mair o' yon. I hae tell't Mr 
 Crawford a', and he 's very sorry for the fright he 
 gave you, and he bade me take your book to ye, and
 
 196 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 say that ye maun on nae account gie up your reading 
 for him. — I am to gie ye a' the books ye want. — And, 
 Rose, he says you 're the prettiest little ghost that 
 ever was seen, and that he wad hae nae objection to 
 meet such anither every nicht. Gae awa now, for 
 your cheeks are as red as Mysie's new duffle cloak 
 that she 's sae proud o'. — Gude nicht, my bairn, and 
 tak' gude care o' yoursel' when your father 's awa. — 
 And, Rose (stopping me with a sly look as I was 
 going), I dinna think ye '11 speel in at ony window 
 again after this." 
 
 I mentally vowed I never would, and bade her good 
 night. I looked into the kitchen in passing, where 
 Mysie was spinning lazily in the chimney corner, with 
 Bauldy nodding on the opposite side. I did not like 
 to disturb the old man, neither was I frightened to 
 traverse the avenue alone, all our neighbours being 
 very quiet ; so I just asked Mysie to light me to a 
 small side-door in the building, and say nothing of it 
 to Mrs Johnstone. 
 
 As I looked back, after I had gained a little dis- 
 tance, to the old house, whose gloomy shadows seemed 
 to swallow up every object in their vicinity, and along 
 whose silent mouldering front not even one light 
 twinkled, I could not but marvel at the strange inci- 
 dent of the evening. It need not be said that I re- 
 gretted my share in it. The occurrence of such an 
 event as the arrival of one of the family at the Craig- 
 lands formed an era in the humble history of our 
 little world. My father's absence from home was
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 197 
 
 peculiarly annoying when I had such a piece of news 
 to communicate. I only wondered that it had not 
 already become public, or at least reached the manse. 
 The news, I found, had reached it during my ab- 
 sence. The servants were busy discussing the subject 
 when I entered, and they were eager to communicate 
 the intelligence to me, in case I should not have heard of 
 it during my walk. I listened to them, but took good 
 care to say nothing of my own adventure, as I well 
 knew that if I did, the story, with a dozen variations, 
 would be over all the neighbourhood by the next 
 morning, especially as Nanny only waited my arrival 
 to obtain leave to take up the large kettle to the near- 
 est toun to get soldered. I granted permission ; and 
 Nanny in her duffle cloak, with the hood drawn close 
 over her head, and the kettle in her hand, set off for 
 the village, to enjoy with her particular cronies there 
 a confabulation on the wonderful arrival of the young 
 laird, and destined probably to reach home by one or 
 two in the morning, whether with or without escort 
 unknown.
 
 198 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 I SAW nothing more of Mr Crawford till Sunday, 
 though I heard often enough about him. He was 
 said to be a sportsman, and was out during most part 
 of the day with his gun. Nanny went over every day 
 to the Craiglands to assist Mrs Johnstone and Mysie 
 to wait upon him, and she was loud in his praise. He 
 was such a good-looking young man, and so easily 
 pleased. He had been visited already by some of the 
 neighbouring gentlemen ; but Mrs Johnstone had told 
 her he did not care for company : — " And nae won- 
 der," Nanny added ; " what could he hae to say to 
 young Riccarton, that a' the country kent was just a 
 born blackguard (she was glad to see he had gien up 
 ca'in' at the manse), or the laird o' Dunderhead, wha 
 scarcely kent his nose was his ain?" 
 
 I began on the second morning after my adventure 
 to visit the poor who had been intrusted to my charge. 
 By questioning Nanny I soon ascertained the hours 
 which Mr Crawford usually spent in-doors, and this 
 enabled me to discharge these duties without the risk 
 of meeting him. From the nearness of the manse to 
 the mansion-house I would have been afraid to ven-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 199 
 
 ture out if I had not discovered this. I confined my- 
 self, however, very much to our own bounds during the 
 subsequent days. From what Nanny said I believed 
 he would not remain long where he was ; so the re- 
 straint was not likely to be severe. 
 
 His residence at the Craiglands created a kind of 
 sensation through the parish during the rest of the 
 week, as the people were curious to see and to hear of 
 the young laird, whom they had not seen since he was 
 a boy. Those tenants who had favours to ask, and 
 who were anxious to obtain his influence with his 
 father, waited upon him at the Craiglands ; and there 
 were many more people coming and going in our quiet 
 corner than I ever remembered on ordinary days. It 
 kept us lively at least ; and as we were always hear- 
 ing something new of his movements and visiters from 
 Nanny, I did not weary so much in my father's ab- 
 sence as I had expected to do. I did not avail my- 
 self of Mr Crawford's polite permission to send for 
 books to the library. I determined to keep the In- 
 ferno till he had gone, and then restore it to its shelf, 
 for fear he should think the returning of it at present 
 was a hint for the use of other books. Of course I 
 saw nothing of Mrs Johnstone, for I did not choose to 
 be seen about the house while her master's son was 
 resident there. But Nanny carried messages to and 
 from each. 
 
 The young man who was to supply my father's 
 place in the pulpit was a relation of the Misses Weir, 
 at whose house my father had formerly met him.
 
 200 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 They expected him to pay them a visit at this time, 
 and had offered to procure his services during his stay. 
 My father had previously been favourably impressed 
 by him, and was very glad to accept the offer. Mr 
 Campbell (that was the young man's name) had been 
 only six months licensed, and the Misses Weir were 
 anxious to hear their young cousin, whom they had 
 often extolled in my hearing for his talents and gen- 
 tlemanly manners. I had not met him the previous 
 year at Burnside, as during the week he stayed there 
 I was almost constantly confined to my room by a 
 severe cold. He walked over with the ladies on Sab- 
 bath, some time before the hour for assembling in 
 church, and they brought him into the manse. 
 
 I found him a very pleasing-looking young man, 
 but rather quiet and reserved. That, however, might 
 arise from the prospect of the duty before him. He 
 was evidently much harassed by the attentions of his 
 relations, who, by the bye, were only his second 
 cousins. They were in a state of much excitement, 
 and very anxious that he should make a great impres- 
 sion upon the congregation. The two younger ladies 
 were especially tormenting. 
 
 " Are ye sure ye hae your notes in your pocket, 
 Mr William?" inquired Miss Jess after they were 
 seated ; "it wad be an awfu' thing if ye were to 
 stick." 
 
 " But for a' that ye mauna read," said Jean ear- 
 nestly, " the folk couldna thole that at a', — and yet, 
 as ye say, Jess, if he were to stick."
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 201 
 
 " I think the best thing William can do," said 
 Miss Menie quietly, " would be to look over his dis- 
 course a while by himsel', — Miss Hose, I 'm sure, will 
 allow him a room." 
 
 The young man looked gratefully at his eldest 
 cousin, who had come to his relief, and I rose to show 
 him the way. I took him to my father's study, when 
 he thanked me politely, and said he should be ready 
 when he was summoned. I saw that, though an- 
 noyed by the well-meant assiduities of the two spin- 
 sters, he was perfectly self-possessed and cool. When 
 I returned to the parlour I was in time to hear the 
 conclusion of a lecture which Miss Menie was giving 
 to the others. 
 
 u Havena ye been harassing that poor lad a' morn- 
 ing," she said, " almost out of his senses? Ye 
 scarcely allowed him to eat his breakfast, and a' the 
 road here ye were clavering at ilka side o' him. If 
 he stick it will be your fault, no his, I tell ye. But 
 I 'm mista'en if ony sic thing happens — he 's no made 
 o' the stuff o' your sticket preachers. William Camp- 
 bell is as clever a lad as ever mounted a pulpit, and 
 though he 's but new aff the aims, as a body may say, 
 it's no just the first time he has preached. Never 
 mind them, Miss Rose, my dear, they 're only fright- 
 ened because he 's of our kin." 
 
 I assured her I had no such fear, — Mr Campbell 
 looked a superior person I thought. 
 
 " You are very right, my dear," she answered, 
 pleased with my remark ; " if Jess and Jean had con-
 
 202 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 versed wi' him as often as I liae done, they would 
 neither hae troubled you nor him wi' such nonsense. 
 He '11 make a first-rate preacher yet, and what 's bet- 
 ter, Miss Rose, there 's the root o' the matter in him. 
 I 'm much mista'en if we havena a good sermon this 
 day. But how lang is it now till the bell rings?" 
 
 I said William the bellman had not yet come for 
 the pulpit bible, so Mr Campbell would still have 
 some minutes. 
 
 " Weel, I 'm glad o' that ; for though I have nae 
 fear o' his sticking, it will give him time to collect 
 himself. — And you '11 no ken, Miss Rose, my dear, 
 that our William is an auld acquaintance of Mr Craw- 
 ford's, that 's just come amang us — they 're auld col- 
 lege companions." 
 
 Of course I did not ; and the good spinster went on, 
 well pleased to talk of her young friend, who was evi- 
 dently a great favourite of hers. 
 
 " It's quite true, — William and the young laird 
 went through several of the classes at the same time, 
 and they were very chief then — it was in Glasgow, 
 where Mr Crawford was boarded by his father, — but 
 they have never forgathered since : so it will be a 
 surprise to Mr Crawford when he sees his auld friend 
 in the pulpit." 
 
 At this moment the servant entered the room to 
 say that the bellman was in the kitchen, and wanted 
 the books. I therefore went to the study, and in- 
 formed Mr Campbell that the time was up. He was 
 quite ready, and William and the precentor, who had
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 203 
 
 also arrived, were sent to him for their instructions. 
 When old William had earned away the books, he 
 commenced the ringing of the bell ; and I accompanied 
 the Misses Weir to the church. I parted from them 
 there, as we entered by different doors : they ascended 
 the staircase to the gallery, and I went to our own 
 seat below, close by the pulpit, where John and Nanny 
 were already sitting. 
 
 There was a larger congregation than usual ; for 
 several had come for no other purpose than to see Mr 
 Crawford, and others were curious to hear the new 
 preacher who was living at Burnside. I scarcely 
 ventured to raise my eyes, when Mr Crawford en- 
 tered the front seat of the gallery, which was opposite 
 to the minister's. William, the bellman, had been 
 very busy the previous day in putting it in order on 
 his account. Some of the tenants had shared it with 
 Mrs Johnstone and the servants during the long ab- 
 sence of the family, and from habit had learned to 
 think they had a claim to it ; but William showed 
 no sympathy, even for Mrs Ballantyne, one of the 
 most liberal of his entertainers, turning every indivi- 
 dual to the right about as they approached the sacred 
 door. I suspect William had an eye to a gratuity ; 
 for, in general, he had little reverence for rank and 
 station. 
 
 Mr Campbell did not stick as his relations feared ; 
 but delivered an excellent discourse in a feeling and 
 appropriate manner ; and when the service was over, 
 many were the congratulations offered to his flattered
 
 204 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 and excited relatives. They accompanied me to the 
 manse, as usual, during the interval between the fore- 
 noon and afternoon services. Looking back on our 
 way, I could see that the young preacher was joined 
 at the church door by his college friend, and that a 
 very warm greeting took place between them. They 
 parted, however, in a few minutes, and Mr Campbell 
 followed us into the house. His relations were very 
 eager to hear of the interview, and I was amused with 
 the quietness with which he evaded their queries. All 
 they could obtain for their trouble only amounted to 
 this, that Mr Crawford had been very glad to meet 
 his old friend in this unexpected manner, and that, as 
 the latter declined dining with him at the Craiglands 
 this afternoon, he had been asked to fix the next day 
 for that purpose. 
 
 The Dundas family came into the manse also, and 
 were very complimentary to the Misses Weir on their 
 cousin's discourse. They, however, did not see Mr 
 Campbell, as he had retired, almost immediately after 
 coming in, to the study. In the afternoon we had 
 again an excellent discourse from the young man, 
 whose simple earnestness reminded me very mucli of 
 my own father. Immediately after the congregation 
 had been dismissed, he returned to Burnside with the 
 ladies, who, however, did not part from me, without 
 kindly inviting me to spend next Tuesday evening 
 with them, when I could see more of William, they 
 said, and be better able to judge of him. 
 
 On Tuesday afternoon, therefore, I went over to
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 205 
 
 Burnside. When I arrived, I found only the ladies 
 and their young relation, but heard that both Mr. 
 Crawford and the Dundases were expected. This in- 
 telligence somewhat disconcerted me, especially the 
 prospect of meeting the former. As the ladies had 
 relinquished their tambour frames in expectation of 
 company, we were all seated in form, waiting for the 
 arrivals. I, however, contrived to withdraw, as much 
 as possible, from observation, by expressing a wish to 
 examine Miss Jean's green paroquet, whose cage was 
 placed on a stand in one of the windows. Mr Camp- 
 bell joined me after I had made this movement, and I 
 conversed with him as well as I was able in the nutter 
 of my spirits. 
 
 I am sure he must have thought me absent, for I 
 was distressed at the prospect of meeting Mr Craw- 
 ford, and of perhaps finding the incident of the library 
 made a subject of raillery. 
 
 Mr Crawford arrived simultaneously with the Dun- 
 dases, and I was formally introduced to him by Miss 
 Menie Weir. I did not raise my eyes when this took 
 place, so I could not see the expression of his coun- 
 tenance. He turned away from me to greet his old 
 acquaintance. I then ventured to steal a glance at 
 him, for as yet I had got no distinct idea of his coun- 
 tenance. I concurred with Nanny in her opinion : 
 he was certainly a fine-looking young man, with an 
 open frank expression, and very pleasing manners. 
 I thought, however (so far as I could judge from my 
 very brief survey), that the intellectual stamp was
 
 206 HOSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 a- wanting. Upon the whole (though less striking), 1 
 preferred Mr Campbell's countenance to his. I was 
 afraid to catch his eye, and soon withdrew my obser- 
 vation. 
 
 The young ladies from Hillside were arrayed this 
 night in more than their usual charms. They had 
 neglected no art of dress to set themselves off to 
 advantage before Mr Crawford. They w T ere likewise 
 most frank and affable to all, with the exception of 
 myself. But I had no objections to remain in the 
 background, — nothing frightened me more than to be 
 brought into close contact with them. They had 
 often met with Mr Crawford in Edinburgh. Their 
 brother had already called at the Craiglands, but they 
 had not seen him till now, and they were very gracious 
 in their welcome. Mr Crawford received their con- 
 gratulations on his arrival with a certain degree of 
 nonchalance, which, to so ignorant a person as I was, 
 seemed something akin to indifference. But I was 
 very inexperienced on all points of etiquette. I was 
 very thankful that my introduction to Mr Crawford 
 was over, and that he had made no allusion to our 
 former interview, even by look. It was an evidence, 
 I thought, of generous feeling on his part. I sat 
 down in my usual seat, nearly behind Miss Jess, and 
 hoped I should now remain unnoticed. 
 
 The gentlemen, who at first stood talking together, 
 soon separated, and mixed among the ladies. Con- 
 versation became general. Mr Crawford's manners 
 were lively and pleasing to every one. George Dun-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 207 
 
 das, as usual, sought me out, and tried to get me to 
 talk ; but, as I did not like him, I let Miss Jess prin- 
 cipally answer his remarks. I was better pleased 
 when Mr Campbell, who had continued silent since 
 the strangers entered, again drew near me, and began 
 to converse. I felt akeady at my ease with him ; for 
 I understood him. His mind was evidently of that 
 order to which I had been accustomed in my father. 
 Though we were almost strangers still, I had an in- 
 tuitive perception of this. I liked him. Our conver- 
 sation at present was principally about the beauties 
 of the surrounding country ; and I found he was an 
 admirer, like myself, of bare heathy hills and lonely 
 moors. He had made himself familiar with all my 
 favourite spots already, and we talked about them 
 pleasantly till we were interrupted by a summons to 
 the tea-table. 
 
 In my young days it was not the custom to sit on 
 couches as at the present time, when servants formally 
 hand round the cups filled with the refreshing bever- 
 age. Then, we all surrounded the tea-table, and par- 
 took of it sociably. The latter method, in my humble 
 opinion, is to be preferred. 
 
 I remember an old lady who was much of my way 
 of thinking in this respect. She lived in the good 
 town of Glasgow, and she was sorely grieved at the 
 innovations upon old customs that were creeping into 
 use. She made a decided stand against them herself. 
 A neighbour sent her an invitation to tea, an attention 
 she particularly relished ; but she was not to be be-
 
 208 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 trayed into sanctioning the new fashion by her 
 presence. 
 
 " Can ye tell me, my woman," she inquired at the 
 girl who brought the invitation, " if it 's to be a wa' 
 tea or a table tea ? " The servant could not inform her. 
 
 " Then, just gae wa' back to your mistress and see," 
 said the old lady, " for if it 's to be a wa' tea I 'm no 
 coming." 
 
 The " wa' tea" had not yet come into use atBurnside. 
 The Misses Weir still exhibited their old-fashioned 
 but handsome silver tea equipage and tiny cups of 
 blue Indian china on the large round table of ebony- 
 like mahogany. Nothing pleased the good spinsters 
 more than to see a party of happy faces surrounding 
 it, especially if the faces were young ; for they pre- 
 ferred the society of young people. It was but right 
 too, the two older ladies said, " for Jean, poor thing, 
 wasna sae auld yet, and occasionally liked younger 
 companions than them." 
 
 The conversation during tea was almost entirely 
 engrossed by the Dundases and Mr Crawford. They 
 talked of their mutual friends in Edinburgh, and of 
 the last season's gaieties. As the rest of us could not 
 join in the conversation, we were obliged to remain 
 listeners, though the youngest Miss Weir occasion- 
 ally interrupted it to put a question concerning dress, 
 and the amusements in which they had mingled. I 
 did not think it quite civil to leave the other in- 
 dividuals of the company so completely out for a 
 length of time, neither, I suppose, did Mr Crawford ;
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 209 
 
 for, after a while, he endeavoured to make the con- 
 versation somewhat more general, though the young 
 ladies and their late governess, who was one of the 
 party, would still have it carried on. He however 
 put a determined stop to it by addressing himself to 
 Campbell, who, I thought, had sometimes listened to 
 the ladies' remarks with a momentary expression in 
 his eye which looked like quiet humour. 
 
 " You did not tell me yesterday how long you were 
 to stay here, Campbell," said he. 
 
 u Only till next week," he answered. 
 
 " Well, I shall be gone then myself. Where do 
 you go afterwards ? What say you to accompany me 
 to Ross-shire ? I must join the rest of the family 
 there." 
 
 Campbell shook his head. " Thank you," he said, 
 " but I must not allow myself such a treat at present. 
 I shall have been idle long enough here." 
 
 " And why no, William?" said all the three spins- 
 ters in one breath, for they were flattered by the invi- 
 tation ; u what 's to prevent ye accepting o' Mr 
 Crawford's kindness ? — ye haena gotten a parish to 
 attend to yet." 
 
 " No," answered he smiling, " but I have got a 
 mother, my dear friends, who is in indifferent health, 
 as you know, and requires attention. Besides," added 
 he, turning to Crawford, " I am engaged on Sabbath 
 week to preach in Glasgow in the College Church, so 
 even if it were otherwise possible, that would prevent 
 it/' 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 210 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 "Is Glasgow your native place, Mr Campbell?" 
 asked Miss Margaret Dundas. Mr Campbell bowed. 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Annabella, the youngest sister, 
 with some surprise ; " but you do not reside there 
 surely?" 
 
 " I certainly do," he said quietly, without ap- 
 parently noticing her manner ; " my mother and 
 sisters live there." 
 
 The ladies slightly raised their eyebrows, and 
 glanced at one another. 
 
 " Glasgow 's no such a bad place," said Miss Menie 
 Weir, who I saw noticed this little by-play as well as 
 myself, " though I believe it 's the custom of the 
 Edinburgh gentry to cast it down. There 's baith 
 genteel and excellent folk in it ; — ye dinna ken the 
 town I suppose, my dears." 
 
 " Oh ! not at all," — (with emphasis). 
 
 " Weel, dinna misca' a place till ye ken it. Mony 
 a happy day I hae spent in Glasgow ; and sae could 
 you too, I doubt na. I grant that mony o' the folk 
 there are very dressy, and no remarkable for their 
 manners ; but there 's differences in a' places, even in 
 Edinburgh itself, I daresay, though it 's sae grand a 
 city. William's father, who was our full cousin, was 
 a merchant there. I ken the town weel." 
 
 " I wish, Campbell, I could give you a living," 
 said Mr Crawford, fortunately breaking in at this 
 moment, and immediately drawing Miss Menie' s at- 
 tention to himself by his remark ; for to any thing 
 connecter! with her youn£ relation she seemed in-
 
 BOSE DOUGLAS. 211 
 
 stantly alive. " The old incumbent in Ross-shire, 
 I believe, is very infirm ; but yet he is likely to 
 live long after you are settled ; — these people always 
 do." 
 
 " I should not like his days shortened on my ac- 
 count/' said Campbell, smiling; "besides, I would 
 rather wait a while ; a man ought to have some ex- 
 perience of his future labours before he engages in the 
 duties of a parish." 
 
 " And how are you to acquire this," said Crawford, 
 " if you do not enter upon them?" 
 
 u I shall probably assist some minister before I get 
 a presentation, if I ever get one," answered Campbell ; 
 H if not, there is an ample field for obtaining such 
 experience among the population of a large town." 
 
 " You do not mean," said Crawford with some as- 
 tonishment, " that you, with your talents and means of 
 getting on, would ever degrade yourself to the work 
 of a mere city missionary?" 
 
 Mr Campbell did not reply for a moment ; his 
 head was bent down. As he looked up, his eyes en- 
 countered mine. I was listening earnestly to the 
 conversation ; and I suppose he read approval in 
 them, for he smiled. I felt it established a kind of con- 
 fidence between us afterwards. He, however, became 
 grave immediately. " Why not?" he answered, u I 
 could not be engaged in a nobler work." He spoke 
 quietly though firmly, as if he had no wish ostentati- 
 ously to obtrude his peculiar opinions on such matters 
 upon others who could not understand them. I now
 
 212 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 did not wonder that I had traced in him a mental 
 likeness to my father, for such were his sentiments. 
 
 Mr Crawford had also noticed the expression of 
 my countenance, for he looked at me and smiled; 
 drawing thus the attention of the rest of the party to 
 me, which threw me into confusion. " I see Miss 
 Douglas at least agrees with you," he said ; " but 
 I cannot understand it, — you would be throwing 
 yourself away, in my apprehension." As Mr Camp- 
 bell made no answer, the subject was allowed to 
 drop. 
 
 " How do you manage at the Craiglands, Craw- 
 ford ? " now inquired George Dundas, who was evi- 
 dently glad to get rid of the subject which had been 
 started, and which was not at all in his way. " I 
 fancied the house was nearly uninhabitable by this 
 time, — I am sure that room I found you in was 
 cheerless enough." 
 
 " The library, — it is rather dull to be sure, but I 
 somehow like it. Besides it is haunted, and I have 
 had the gratification of meeting the ghost." 
 
 " How can you talk such nonsense ! " exclaimed the 
 young ladies ; while I was struck dumb, and felt the 
 blood rapidly tinging my cheeks. I dreaded the turn 
 the conversation was taking, and began to fear that I 
 had too quickly given Mr Crawford credit for his for- 
 bearance ; I took care to stoop my head very low 
 over my cup, so as to conceal my countenance from 
 the company. 
 
 " Fact, upon my honour," he said with affected
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 213 
 
 gravity, " neither was I long in the house before it 
 happened." 
 
 " And pray what appearance had it, Mr Crawford?" 
 inquired Miss Beatson, the governess. 
 
 " It was in the most interesting of all forms, madam, 
 a young lady's, — but you must have heard the story." 
 They assured him laughingly they never had, and 
 begged he would inform them. I was too insigni- 
 ficant a person to attract their attention, or they 
 might have remarked my uneasiness. I was seated 
 close to Miss Menie, and her eyes were directed like 
 the rest to Mr Crawford. There was nothing to dread 
 from her sisters' observation : I was not so sure of 
 Mr Campbell's. In my perturbation I drank my tea 
 scalding hot, which somewhat quieted me, for physi- 
 cal pain is a wonderful composer to an agitated mind 
 — the one deadens the other. 
 
 " You do not mean to say that you have never 
 heard the story connected with the library," said Mr 
 Crawford ; u is it possible ? Why, you are resident 
 in the place, while I am but a stranger. You ought 
 to make a pilgrimage to visit the old housekeeper, 
 that she might enlighten your ignorance. — Well, I 
 will have compassion upon you, and Miss Douglas 
 (glancing archly at me, for he noted my confusion), 
 who must know the story, will, I hope, set me right 
 when I am wrong. You must know then, ladies and 
 gentlemen," he continued, " that once upon a time 
 there was a young lady of our family who chose to 
 fall in love, as it is called, with an individual not ex-
 
 214 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 actly considered by lier relations as entitled by birth 
 to such a connexion. As this was discovered, the 
 young lady (very properly, as you must allow,) was 
 confined to the library and a bedroom adjoining, 
 where of course she was well watched. One night, 
 unfortunately, as it proved, the guard slumbered, and 
 when she awoke her charge was flown. The alarm 
 was instantly given, and as one of the library windows 
 was found open, there was no doubt entertained but 
 that her lover had managed to convey her through it, 
 and that she had escaped with him ; and a pursuit 
 was instantly commenced after the supposed fugitives. 
 But when the morning came," continued the young 
 man, whose tones involuntarily grew graver as he 
 went on, for the story was a true one, " there was a 
 melancholy discovery made. The young lady had, 
 it seems (though her own friends were strangely igno- 
 rant of it), been in the practice at times of walking in 
 her sleep. The window and her lover had, I suppose, 
 been connected in her imagination, (she often used to 
 gaze from it, I believe, during her imprisonment), — 
 perhaps she had thought of the practicability of escap- 
 ing by it, — at all events, her crushed and mangled 
 body was in the morning found lying on the grass 
 just under the window, from which the poor girl must 
 of course have fallen. But it is certain that her 
 spirit has haunted the library ever since, and many are 
 reported to have seen it there. — I am one of them." 
 
 " Poor girl — how very dreadful !" ejaculated most 
 of the listeners, with (of course) the exception of
 
 RUSE DOUGLAS. 215 
 
 myself. — " But is the story really true, Mr Craw- 
 ford?" 
 
 " True ! — ask Miss Douglas : Is it not true ? " he 
 said, addressing me. " I believed it was," I said, as 
 composedly as I could, but determined not to meet his 
 eye, nor encourage him in mystifying the rest. I was 
 beginning to have more confidence in him, so I added, 
 " at least the first part is." 
 
 " Oh, fie ! Miss Douglas, — you of all people to in- 
 sinuate doubt, when you must be quite aware how 
 true it is ! " 
 
 " But how should Miss Kose here ken so weel 
 about it? " asked Miss Menie, whose vigilant eye had 
 at last detected my uneasiness and varying complexion, 
 and who could not comprehend what connexion the 
 story had with me. She was the only quick-sighted 
 individual of the party however. All the others had 
 been fully occupied attending to the narrator. " Why 
 she and the old housekeeper are cronies, I believe, — 
 at least, Mrs Johnstone quotes Miss Douglas upon all 
 occasions, and would never let her be ignorant of an 
 important family tradition like this. — But I see none 
 of you will believe me," continued he, gaily rising 
 from the tea-table, which was a signal for all to move ; 
 " and therefore I scorn to tell you what my own ex- 
 perience was." 
 
 " Oh ! do tell us, Mr Crawford," and " we should 
 so much like to hear it," exclaimed the young ladies 
 in different tones of entreaty. But Mr Crawford de- 
 clared that their disbelief had been so apparent as to
 
 216 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 make any farther confession impossible, and in spite 
 of the many eager questions that were showered upon 
 him, continued inexorable. He found an opportunity 
 however, while an arrangement for a round game, 
 which often closed the evenings at Bumside, was in 
 the process of being completed, to whisper (so as only 
 to be audible to myself) as he passed me to take his 
 place at the table, " Do I not deserve credit for my 
 forbearance?" 
 
 He looked back archly after he said this, and I was 
 not so annoyed but that I was compelled to smile. 
 He then joined the others, and they were all soon 
 occupied with the game, and, to judge from the bursts 
 of laughter that constantly reached our ears, enjoying 
 themselves. 
 
 I had declined playing, as had Mr Campbell and 
 Miss Menie Weir. We were not required to make 
 up the game ; and I have no doubt that the Misses 
 Dundas were very glad to engross for the time all 
 Mr Crawford's attentions. They had looked haughtily 
 surprised, I thought, when he addressed me, though 
 they did not dare to show their contempt too openly 
 in the presence of the Misses Weir, with whom they 
 knew I was a favourite. I have no doubt they 
 thought I was encroaching on their prerogatives. 
 
 I was very glad to sit quietly by the fireside, (for 
 we had not yet put off fires at Auchtermuir,) with 
 kind Miss Menie and Mr Campbell ; and though our 
 conversation was much less vivacious than that of 
 those who surrounded the table, I believe it was more
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 217 
 
 interesting to those engaged in it. I was much pleased 
 with Mr Campbell, and I somehow thought that he 
 had already penetrated the characters of the young 
 ladies of the party, and saw my position with them. 
 I felt at ease with him, and could converse without 
 first considering what I was about to say, which I 
 generally did when speaking with some of the present 
 company. Miss Menie encouraged him to talk, and 
 evidently took pleasure in listening to him, — just 
 what a mother might show towards a favourite son ; 
 and Mr Campbell looked and spoke to her with much 
 affection. I saw he respected her, and that he made 
 a difference between her and his other relations. His 
 mind was highly cultivated I felt certain, but his su- 
 perior information was not obtruded upon one — it show- 
 ed itself unconsciously. He led me to talk, and seemed 
 much interested in all that I could tell him of the 
 parish, and the nature of my father's labours among 
 its population. In this I felt he paid him a high 
 compliment, as he led me to believe he was anxious 
 to profit by his example. We both got animated on 
 this topic : and save that I occasionally turned my 
 head and smiled to Miss Menie, I made no other apo- 
 logy for continuing a subject which I well knew was 
 interesting to her as well as to myself. We were not 
 conscious, I believe, how long we had been convers- 
 ing thus, till the sound of the Dundases' carriage on 
 the gravel beneath the windows, and the breaking up 
 of the party around the table, warned us that it was 
 time to cease.
 
 218 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 The young ladies were evidently unwilling to leave 
 Mr Crawford behind them, and I could overhear one 
 of them give a hint to her brother to offer him a seat 
 in the carriage : but as Mr Crawford preferred walk- 
 ing, they were obliged to wish us good night and 
 drive off. 
 
 Nanny and I were not allowed to proceed alone to- 
 night, Mr Crawford and Mr Campbell both accom- 
 panying me home, the latter to enjoy his friend's 
 company. They left me after seeing us safe within the 
 manse-gate. Mr Crawford had made no further allu- 
 sion to the scene in the library ; and now, I hoped, I 
 should hear no more of it.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 219 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A CLOUD RISES THE SIZE OF A MAN'S HAND. 
 
 Ah ! storms and wintry weather 
 Are never absent long. 
 
 Mr Campbell and Mr Crawford both left the neigh- 
 bourhood the following week, and a kind of stag- 
 nation seemed to succeed their departure. Before 
 leaving, Mr Campbell, accompanied by his cousins, 
 called at the manse to say good-bye, which I was 
 very sorry to do. He was a great favourite with the 
 good spinsters, and they were much depressed at the 
 prospect of losing his society. They had been highly 
 gratified by the impression he had made on the peo- 
 ple, on both of the occasions when he had officiated for 
 my father. His popularity they regarded as a com- 
 pliment to themselves. He required to leave them, 
 for the reasons he had already given, — so his cousins 
 were obliged to acquiesce ; but he promised that he 
 would certainly re-visit them whenever he had an 
 opportunity. I was sorry he was going so soon ; for 
 it was seldom, in our retired place, that 1 met with so 
 pleasant an acquaintance.
 
 220 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 Mr Crawford did not take his departure for two 
 days later. I only heard of it through Nanny, who 
 returned home the same afternoon, very dejected-look- 
 ing, in spite of a handsome gratuity which the young 
 laird had desired Mrs Johnstone to present to her 
 as a reward for her services. 
 
 " And there 's nae prospect o' his coming back 
 neither," Nanny said sorrowfully enough ; " for Tarn 
 Cossar, the groom, telt me that there 's a talk o' 
 his getting married to some rich leddy at the ither 
 place whaur his folk bide ; and if that comes aboot, 
 they '11 no trouble our auld dungeon, as Tarn ca's it, 
 muckle. I wouldna wonder though," continued 
 Nanny, bridling at some recollection, " but Tarn has 
 telt me a lee ; for, after a' his talk, I see he 's no 
 muckle to be trusted to. He seemed better pleased 
 to get awa than his maister did — that did he." 
 
 I saw that something was wrong. Poor Nanny 
 had doubtless been flattered by the attentions of the 
 smart groom, whose dashing exterior and manners had 
 driven, for the time, all her country sweethearts out 
 of her head ; and now she was low spirited and indig- 
 nant at the ease with which he had parted from her. 
 I tried to comfort her; but a short period I knew 
 would restore to her her old feelings ; and, indeed, 
 the very next night I overheard her talking and 
 laughing with an old flame, a servant of the miller's, 
 just as if Tam Cossar, the groom, had never made an 
 impression on her heart. When I upbraided her with 
 her inconstancy, she at first tossed her head saucily
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 221 
 
 and played with the string of her apron, as if uncer- 
 tain how she could defend herself; but at length, 
 plucking up courage, she raised her eyes, and said, 
 that she " had made up her mind that auld freends 
 were aye mair to be trusted than new anes, and that 
 though Archie was maybe no sae sprush as Tam, she 
 believed he was far truer hearted after a', and she didna 
 care now though the ha' house stood empty till dooms- 
 day — not she." 
 
 I heard the same news from Mrs Johnstone as 
 Nanny had learned from the groom. It came from a 
 surer quarter. There was no doubt that a marriage 
 was in negotiation between Sir Robert Crawford's 
 heir and the only child and heiress of a considerable 
 proprietor in Ross-shire. It was not yet quite set- 
 tled, Mrs Johnstone believed ; but from the instruc- 
 tions Mr Grainger had received, she conjectured it 
 was as good. 
 
 Mr Crawford had taken the opportunity, while pre- 
 liminaries were being settled, of paying a visit to the 
 other family property ; but there was not much 
 chance of our seeing him again, Mrs Johnstone said, 
 if things turned out as they all expected. 
 
 My father came home on Friday evening. I had 
 received a letter from him on the previous Tues- 
 day, fixing the day of his return, and desiring that 
 John should be sent to meet him with the caravan at 
 Drumsheugh, as he was again to travel with Dr Dry- 
 screed. I was on the watch for his arrival all the 
 evening. This had been a duller week than the last,
 
 222 fcOSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 owing to the departure of the gentlemen, and I 
 rejoiced that I was again to have his company. 
 An hour before the traveller could possibly make 
 his appearance, I was on the outlook for him at the 
 gate. 
 
 It was a lovely evening, very calm and sweet. 
 There had been a slight shower late in the afternoon, 
 so that every leaf and flower looked refreshed, and 
 exhaled new fragrance. Everything was happy-like, 
 birds and blossoms ; and I was pre-eminently so. 
 
 I was delighted to see the place looking so well, 
 and I flattered myself that my father would observe a 
 great many improvements when he arrived, for I had 
 not been idle in his absence. There were new flowers 
 in blow, and I had got some rare slips sent me a few 
 days before, which I had to introduce him to. I was 
 as light-hearted as one of those birds that were sing- 
 ing so sweetly, as they flew from wall to branch above 
 me. Now, I hurried into the house for a minute to 
 make myself sure, for the twentieth time, that every- 
 thing was in proper order and readiness, — the tea- 
 things upon the table, the bread and butter and 
 raspberry jam arranged as neatly as possible, and my 
 father's easy chair set beside the table, just in his old 
 place. Then away back again to my post at the gate, 
 sometimes varying it by running a little way along 
 the road, for the purpose of climbing upon a large 
 stone, which permitted a more extended view, that I 
 might have the earliest intimation possible of the ap- 
 proach of the returning traveller. The very length of
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 223 
 
 time (thanks to my own impatience) that I had to 
 watch did not weary out my spirits, though it might 
 sober them a little. The happiness before me could 
 not be diminished, though it did not arrive quite so 
 soon as I wished. 
 
 At last I heard the dull rumbling of the cart at 
 some distance. There was no mistaking the peculiar 
 jingle, and I hurried back (for I had been ascending 
 the stone for the fiftieth time), that I might receive 
 him at the gate. I might have run on, and greeted 
 him a minute or two sooner ; but it was pleasanter to 
 meet him just at our own home, and welcome him 
 back again there. There they come, shaking, stag- 
 gering, jingling along the road, — John sitting like a 
 statue in front : now they turn the comer just at the 
 churchyard wall, and here they are at our own little 
 gate ! 
 
 I tore the curtain quickly aside, — " Papa, papa, 
 dear papa, how glad I am to see you again ! " 
 
 " And I to return to you, Rose." 
 
 Xanny came hurrying down with a chair ; Peggy 
 followed her. We all helped him out, every one 
 eager to lend assistance, and at last he stood on the 
 ground. I had not seen his face till then, and now I 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " What is the matter, my love?" he asked anxi- 
 ously. 
 
 " Why did you not tell me you were ill, papa?" 
 
 He had not mentioned his health in either of his 
 letters, except in the most general manner. He
 
 224 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 looked ill — very ill. All my gay spirits fled in a 
 moment. 
 
 He said he was fatigued with travelling, and that 
 he had been much confined when in Edinburgh ; and 
 seeing me still looking distressed, he smiled kindly as if 
 to dissipate my fears, and putting his arm through mine, 
 he walked towards the house, pausing however on the 
 way to look at the flowers and shrubs, and comment 
 on their beauty and fragrance. But I had no heart 
 now to direct his attention to any thing new. When 
 he was seated in his own chair in the parlour, lie 
 looked around with an air of much satisfaction. 
 
 " Thank God that I am home again ! " he said. 
 " How sweet and calm every thing here looks after 
 the dinginess and noise of the city ! I have been like 
 a bird out of the nest, Rose." He said this so cheer- 
 fully, that I began to think that the worn exhausted 
 look which had struck me so forcibly when he stepped 
 from the cart, might be merely the effect of fatigue. 
 I brought him some flowers that I had gathered 
 for him, and he inhaled their fragrance with the 
 pleasure of one who has been long debarred from such 
 a treat. 
 
 " What a treasure these would have been," he 
 said, " in my dull close bedroom in Edinburgh ! We 
 were unfortunate in lodgings you must know. How 
 sweet those double polyanthuses are ! I see you have 
 not forgotten the garden in my absence, Rose." He 
 looked up smilingly to me as I stood pensively beside 
 his chair.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 22.") 
 
 " Why are you so silent, my love ? Come, let me 
 see you smile and talk as you used to do. You 
 surely did not expect me to look as blooming as 
 yourself after a fortnight's confinement, and after such 
 a journey. Let me have my tea, and look cheerfully, 
 I beseech you, my dear little Rose." 
 
 It was true. I had not thought enough perhaps 
 of the constant confinement — bad lodgings too — and 
 he so accustomed to exercise and to pure fresh air. I 
 made an effort, and forced down the tears which were 
 rising again to my eyes, and threatening to overflow 
 their bounds. I had been too soon alarmed, I now 
 tried to convince myself; and with the easy persuada- 
 bility of youth, I believed myself mistaken. I there- 
 fore endeavoured to shake off my fears, and with a 
 considerably lighter heart and step, I hastened to get 
 tea ready for the traveller. 
 
 It was soon prepared ; the table was drawn close 
 to my father's chair that he might not have the 
 trouble of moving, and we again enjoyed a meal to- 
 gether. We were quietly happy. My spirits could 
 not regain their former elasticity just yet, for there 
 was my father's pale face opposite to prevent that ; 
 but still he was back again, and I now persuaded my- 
 self he would look better to-morrow. 
 
 We talked of all that had happened in his absence, 
 — of Mr Crawford's unexpected visit to the Craig- 
 lands, but particularly of Mr Campbell. But he 
 would break off every now and then to admire the 
 neatness and freshness of the room, and the beauty of 
 VOL. i. p
 
 226 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 the bursting blossoms without, which showed how 
 much his heart was revelling in the sensations of 
 home. When I asked him concerning the business 
 which had engaged the attention of the Assembly, 
 his cheerfulness lessened. He did not like the ap- 
 pearance of the Church. A spirit evidently preponder- 
 ated in it inimical to vital godliness in the land, and 
 this apparently weighed heavy at his heart. The 
 evangelical body seemed but a handful compared with 
 the rest ; but " God would keep his own," he said. 
 
 We lingered long over the tea-table. It was a 
 sweet meal to both ; and we almost agreed that it 
 was a good thing to be separated for a time, that we 
 might experience the pleasure of re-union. When I 
 did at last send the tea-things away, I sat down on a 
 low stool by his chair, and taking up the stocking I 
 was knitting for him, we conversed together till it was 
 time to summon the servants to prayers. I was re- 
 luctant to close the shutters and order lights, for a 
 soft melancholy feeling had stolen upon me in place 
 of the wild gaiety which had animated me earlier in 
 the evening, and the calm fading twilight harmonized 
 with the tone of my mind. My father's despondent 
 state of mind in regard to the Church affected me, and 
 I was still anxious and uneasy concerning his health. 
 
 How solemn was our evening worship that night ! 
 How lowly and contrite were my father's confessions ! 
 and how earnest and fervent were his thanksgivings 
 that we were all once more permitted to mingle our 
 prayers together. And in his petitions for more light
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 227 
 
 and more spiritual zeal to be diffused through the 
 Church of our fathers, there was throughout such a 
 strain of sadness and despondency, and yet wrestling 
 with God for the blessing, that my spirit felt hushed 
 and awe-struck. 
 
 The servants' faces were solemnized and full of 
 meaning as they rose from their knees and withdrew 
 from the room ; and when I visited the kitchen, 
 according to my usual custom before going to bed, I 
 found the impression had not yet passed away. They 
 were both seated gazing thoughtfully at the fire, and 
 both inquired immediately, if I thought the " maister 
 quite weel." 
 
 " It 's no that he 's sae ill-like either," quickly 
 added Nanny, who was by far the most intelligent of 
 the two girls ; "I wouldna like to frichten ye, for 
 I 'm sure there 's nae reason ; but I think he 's altered 
 somehow." 
 
 " How do you mean, Nanny ? Do you think him 
 much thinner?" 
 
 " It 's no that a'thegither," she answered musingly, 
 as if she scarcely understood her own meaning, or at 
 least had a difficulty in resolving it into words. 
 He 's thinner and whiter nae doubt, and he has a bad 
 hoast. But it 's — I canna tell what it is — I saw it 
 in his prayer." 
 
 " Sae did I," said Peggy, immediately. 
 
 The simple girls could not explain what had struck 
 them, but I knew what they meant. The lamp was 
 burning brighter. It was the inner Life which was
 
 228 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 progressing ; and though perhaps my father was un- 
 conscious of it himself, it was apparent to us. The 
 Christian was advancing rapidly on his journey ; — 
 another step had been gained in the pilgrimage. 
 
 That night, though I retired to my room soon 
 after my father, I was in no mood to sleep. I sat 
 musing long in the little window of my bedroom, and 
 my meditations were of a kind that unconsciously 
 brought tears into my eyes, from which I as uncon- 
 sciously would wipe them away to clear my sight. 
 My thoughts involuntarily wandered back to child- 
 hood, — from thence to womanhood : my life seemed 
 pictured before me as reflected in a mirror, and still he 
 was the prominent object in all. I could not shake 
 off the strange melancholy which had somehow 
 settled down upon my spirits since the evening. It 
 was a state of mind I could not analyze, and hardly 
 wished to do so, for the servants' remarks had touched 
 a chord in my own bosom which had responded to 
 them. 
 
 I gazed out upon the little church and churchyard 
 lying so silently beneath me in the dim light j and 
 deeper impressions of the uncertainty of life, and the 
 emptiness and unsatisfactory nature of all earthly 
 things, took possession of my mind. I felt I had 
 never weighed these truths as their importance de- 
 served ; and the question, " What am I living for?" 
 suggested itself to my mind. Had I been living for 
 eternity ? — I feared not. 
 
 Not a sound was to be heard without. The church-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 229 
 
 yard trees drooped heavily over the graves, as if there 
 was no breeze to stir them. The moonlight shone 
 upon the little belfry, making the very bell - rope 
 visible ; and many of the tombstones and one of the 
 side walls of the church glimmered white in its rays. 
 I was scarcely sensible to-night of the picturesque 
 effect. My eyes were fixed upon my mother's grave 
 lying close beside that wall, and my mind was filled 
 with busy imaginations, when a dull sound in the 
 house reached my ear and went to my heart. It was 
 my father's cough. It broke like a knell on the still- 
 ness of the night, and I could muse no longer. 
 
 I knelt down, and, with greater earnestness than I 
 had ever before felt, I commended myself and all my 
 interests to that Father whose ear is ever open to the 
 cry of his people, and then lay down to rest ; but it 
 was long before I slept.
 
 230 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Ah ! storms and wintry weather 
 Reign merciless and strong : 
 The yellow autumn came at last 
 And strewed the leaves along ; 
 The ivy rustled mournfully 
 Upon the time-worn tower : 
 The sunshine on the grey dial-stone 
 More faintly marked the hour. 
 
 Days and weeks and months wore on. We were the 
 same family, inhabiting the same sweet dwelling, — 
 but what a change there was in all our feelings ! 
 
 It was a glorious summer that of 17 — . Never had 
 the old trees and the grass been greener and more 
 luxuriant ; the fruit-trees bent beneath their fast ripe- 
 ning burden ; successions of flowers decked the once 
 cherished borders ; and the air seemed almost vibrat- 
 ing with the music of the birds. Lovely as it had 
 always looked, our little sequestered home had put on 
 a still fairer face. Perhaps the little attention that 
 was now paid to the rapidly encroaching " greenery" 
 that clothed our walls, and mantled over every thing 
 which permitted its embrace, gave it a more nest-like 
 look. The little antique church and the gravestones 
 were almost embosomed from sight by the redundant
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 231 
 
 foliage of the surrounding sycamores and birches, — 
 a glimpse of a grey wall or a tombstone peeping 
 only occasionally out from underneath the spreading 
 branches. Every breeze was laden with perfume ; 
 the heath was alive with bees, and the green banks 
 of the Clyde were gleaming with daisies. But I had 
 now no eye for the beauty around me. 
 
 A cloud had fallen upon our little cheerful house- 
 hold. We were no longer as we had been. Ours 
 was now the home of suffering and disease, and I now 
 knew of approaching death. The sufferer alone was 
 calm and happy. He had committed all earthly as 
 well as eternal interests to that God who has said, 
 " Cast thy burden upon me, and I will sustain it." 
 He was my soother and strengthener, instead of my 
 being his. None but the Searcher of hearts knew the 
 struggle within me, the endeavour after resignation to 
 the Divine will, and yet the rebelling of the spirit 
 against it. How could I part with him? how bear 
 to wander on through this world alone, without his 
 kind fatherly voice to guide and support me? When 
 I now look back to those times, I can acknowledge 
 with humility and love that the discipline, though 
 severe, was from a Father's hand. 
 
 After his return from the Assembly my father's 
 health seemed gradually to break up. I clung for 
 weeks to the belief that fatigue, united to a bad cold, 
 had but for a time undermined his health, and that 
 before the end of summer he would be as he had for- 
 merly been, never robust, but in the enjoyment of
 
 232 RUSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 moderate health. With an anxiety which I endeav- 
 oured to conceal even from myself, I watched every 
 symptom. If he looked ill and languid, as he too 
 often did, I was unhappy and alarmed, — if he ap- 
 peared to revive, I was more than proportionally hope- 
 ful. So weeks wore on. 
 
 At first he attempted to perform his usual duties of 
 visiting the sick and poor ; but he returned from these 
 labours so worn-out and depressed, and such sleepless 
 nights were the consequence, that, to sooth my appre- 
 hensions, I obtained a promise that he would not re- 
 sume them till his health was somewhat restored. 
 But nothing could persuade him to relinquish the 
 duties of the pulpit. " I must preach while I am 
 able," I overheard him say to one of his elders, who 
 endeavoured to prevail upon him to take some rest. 
 
 He was (as I think I formerly mentioned) of a con- 
 sumptive constitution. A neglected cold (neglected 
 owing to the duty which took him to Edinburgh, 
 where the winds which prevail during spring had 
 been most unfavourable to him) had settled upon his 
 lungs. His cough was at times most distressing, and 
 he had become subject to severe perspirations. But 
 still, like all young persons who have not known ill- 
 ness, I clung to hope. I was the last, I believe, to 
 see the danger, and even then it was the increase of 
 tenderness upon his part that first made me feel the 
 truth. 
 
 I remember well the last time that he ever ad- 
 dressed his people. He had struggled on in the dis-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 233 
 
 charge of his duties, — far too heavy as they were 
 become for him. We had had the communion some 
 weeks before, which had borne hard upon his ex- 
 hausted frame. There are some yet living at Auch- 
 termuir who have not forgot, and never will forget 
 that solemn communion season. God set a seal upon 
 his servant's labours that day. 
 
 It was on a Sabbath in the latter end of July that 
 he preached his last sermon. He had chosen for his 
 text those memorable w T ords of Paul, — u And now, 
 behold, I know that ye all among whom I have gone 
 preaching the kingdom of God, shall see my face no 
 more. Wherefore, I take you to record this day, that 
 I am free from the blood of all men." I think the 
 choice of the text could scarcely be accidental. A 
 sense of his declining strength must have warned him 
 of the probability of his being soon removed from 
 those whom he had so watched and laboured for, and 
 he had collected all his energies for this final address. 
 
 I can never forget that day ; — my father's pale ear- 
 nest countenance, animated by a power which after- 
 wards left him weak and exhausted, — the eagerness 
 with which he endeavoured to press upon them their 
 guilty ruined condition before God, — and the living 
 faith which shone in his look when he held up Jesus 
 as a fitting Saviour for such sinners. Truth spoke in 
 his accents. 
 
 " I have been long spared to be your minister," he 
 said in conclusion, u but it may be that I may never 
 more have the opportunity of addressing you ; and if
 
 234 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 so, remember my last words, — seek Christ while in 
 health, seek him not only as the Saviour, but as the 
 sanctifier, and that, my friends, will disarm death of 
 all its terrors." 
 
 There was not a dry eye in the little congregation. 
 Some of the women sobbed aloud, and large tears 
 trickled unconsciously down the rugged face of the 
 old miller, who sat in the aisle, till yielding more and 
 more to his emotion, his grey head gradually sank till 
 it rested with his folded arms upon the little table be- 
 fore him. All seemed to receive the words as a last 
 message. And how did the daughter feel? Stupi- 
 fied — terror-struck — unable to commit him to God — 
 I could not yet give him up. 
 
 At the conclusion of his discourse he sat down com- 
 pletely exhausted, and I observed, for my eyes were 
 anxiously fixed upon him, that he pressed his hand- 
 kerchief repeatedly to his lips. When the congrega- 
 tion retired, I lingered behind in the porch that I 
 might assist him home. Two old women passed 
 without observing me ; they were conversing in low 
 earnest tones, and they wiped their eyes as they 
 walked. " Honest man," said the one to the other, 
 " did ye see how sair failed he was, Annie, when he 
 gie'd oot the psalm ? I 'm fear't he '11 no be lang 
 amang us." I looked wistfully after them as they 
 moved along to the gate : they did not know what a 
 sad heart they had left behind. 
 
 My father soon appeared, leaning feebly on the arm 
 of one of the elders, — some of the others were behind.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 235 
 
 All were looking serious and dejected. I stole to my 
 father's vacant side, and was going to offer him my 
 additional support, when my eye fell upon the white 
 handkerchief which he still kept in his hand. It was 
 spotted with blood. A low shuddering gasp escaped 
 from my lips, instead of the cry which rose to them, 
 and which I had still strength of mind enough to 
 check. I knew what consequence the doctor attached 
 to this symptom, and remembered how earnestly he 
 had lately questioned me as to its existence. I was 
 glad that my father did not notice my distress. He 
 refused my aid, as he had sufficient support, and we 
 walked on to the gate. When we reached it, he sud- 
 denly paused, and turned round, as if moved by some 
 involuntary impulse. He gazed wistfully for a few 
 moments upon the little church. What feelings passed 
 through his mind I know not ; but he sighed deeply, 
 and then moved on. It was a parting look : he never 
 entered it again. 
 
 He was assisted into the house, but he had not sat 
 down more than a few minutes, when he felt he must 
 go to bed, — he was completely worn out. By this 
 time he had recollected to put his handkerchief out of 
 sight, afraid, I have no doubt, that it might suddenly 
 attract my eye. The elder, who had accompanied 
 him, still lingered, and seemed anxious to be of fur- 
 ther use ; so he supported him up stairs, and helped 
 him to undress. I was waiting in the passage out- 
 side the room, and, when the elder came out, I fol- 
 lowed him down stairs.
 
 236 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 " How do you think my father is, Mr Lang?" I 
 asked him anxiously, when out of hearing. 
 
 " Weel, I canna just say," he answered hesitatingly. 
 " What do ye think o' him yoursel' ?" 
 
 I could only shake my head, and then turn it aside, 
 to hide the tears which I could not restrain. 
 
 " Ay — ay — ye are taking it unco sair to heart," 
 said the good man, evidently moved himself; " but I 
 trust he 's no sae ill as ye fear — and oh ! Miss Rosy, 
 dear, mind he 's in gude hands, — gude hands !" 
 
 " Puir thing," I heard him murmur to himself, as 
 he left the house. Yes — I was become a poor sad 
 thing. 
 
 I went to my own room before I again entered my 
 father's, and bathed my eyes with cold water, that he 
 might not observe I had been weeping. I then 
 took him some refreshment. He was lying quietly 
 when I entered, with his eyes closed ; but he opened 
 them on hearing my step, and cheerfully agreed to 
 take what I had brought to him. He then said he 
 thought he would compose himself to rest, and that, 
 he was sure, would do him good. He begged me to 
 go down to dinner. To please him, as he several 
 times looked anxiously at me, I promised to obey him. 
 I went down stairs, but dinner was out of the ques- 
 tion. I could not eat. I went to watch for the doc- 
 tor, for whom I had sent. 
 
 It was not long before I recognised the clatter of his 
 horse's feet on the quiet road. He dismounted at the 
 gate, and gave his horse to John, who had been on
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 237 
 
 the outlook for his arrival ; and after talking a short 
 time with him, he came towards the house. I met 
 him at the door, and took him into the parlour. There 
 was considerable kindness of heart hidden under the 
 doctor's homely exterior, and he looked uneasy and 
 disturbed, as, softly shutting the door, I hastened to 
 disburden myself of all my heavy fears. He heard 
 me to an end, without interrupting me. He shook 
 his head, however, when I mentioned the blood. He 
 could say nothing though till he had seen him. I 
 explained that I had not informed my father of my 
 having sent for him, and that, as he had shown an 
 inclination to sleep some time ago, I would first go 
 up to his room, and ascertain if he were awake. 
 
 I accordingly stole quietly up stairs to the bedroom. 
 He was asleep. I gently put back the curtains, and 
 bent over him. I had now the best opportunity of 
 examining the ravages illness had made on his ap- 
 pearance, when every feature was at rest, and the play 
 of the countenance, so expressive when awake, was 
 gone. The eyes were hollow, and the cheek-bones 
 stood out prominently. There were two bright red 
 spots, one on each cheek, while the rest of the face 
 was unnaturally pale. I dropped the curtain with a 
 heavy foreboding sigh. 
 
 I lingered for a short time in the room in case he 
 might awake. There was a small cupboard fitting in 
 to the lower recess of the window, and upon this I 
 leaned my arms, and for some minutes looked vacantly 
 out. My eye scarcely noted any object, for my mind
 
 238 KOSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 was busy. But at length my thoughts were arrested. 
 It had never struck me till now, when I stood there 
 this Sabbath afternoon, why my father some years 
 before had caused one of the trees skirting the little 
 shrubbery to be cut down. I had w T ondered at the 
 time why he had sacrificed the tree, for it did not in- 
 terfere with the vigorous growth of the rest. In some 
 moods of the mind we are alive to all things which 
 bear sympathy with them, which at other times never 
 strike us. Now I saw that, if left to spread, it must 
 have obscured the view of my mother's grave. He 
 had never forgotten her. I felt how touching was 
 this daily clinging to her remembrance. How sacred 
 a spot this window must have been to him for many 
 years — to him, the gentle, uncomplaining, patient 
 man — My poor father ! 
 
 As he continued to sleep, I thought it best to go 
 below, and inform the doctor. I found him quite 
 willing to wait, as he had only one other patient to 
 visit that evening who lived at no great distance ; and 
 having satisfied his request for a book, and seen him 
 seated comfortably in my father's chair, I took up 
 one myself, as a pretence to appear employed, and 
 that I might, without observation, indulge my own 
 thoughts. The doctor soon fell asleep over his book, 
 and, with his blue cotton handkerchief spread over 
 his face, looked quite content to remain where he 
 was. 
 
 I left him after some time to his repose, and, after 
 giving orders in the kitchen for tea to be got ready, I
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 239 
 
 again went up stairs. I found my father just awak- 
 ing as I entered his room. I informed him that the 
 doctor was below, that I had thought it advisable to 
 send for him as he had seemed so poorly. He did 
 not appear surprised, and said he should be glad to see 
 him. I went down, and rousing the doctor, brought 
 him up to my father's room, and then left, them to- 
 gether. 
 
 I had a very severe headache ; so telling Nanny to 
 be on the watch for the doctor's reappearance, and then 
 inform me, that I might give him tea, I stole out to the 
 garden that I might try the effect of fresh air. I walked 
 up and down there for a considerable time, but at last 
 was surprised that I was not summoned. So I re- 
 turned to the house, anxious to learn the doctor's 
 opinion of my father's state. I met Nanny in the 
 lobby, who informed me he was gone. 
 
 I was much disappointed. " Why did you not tell 
 me, Nanny," I said reproachfully? " I wished par- 
 ticularly to see the doctor after he left my father. 
 This was not like you." 
 
 " Oh ! Miss Rose, I didna forget — I telt him tea 
 was ready, and you were expecting him ; but he 
 wadna bide for me, and made straight for the stable. 
 There 's his horse's feet enoo — he 's just riding aff — 
 I '11 stop him yet, if ye like." But the doctor set off 
 that moment at a canter, and it was impossible. As 
 Nanny was vexed, I said it was of no consequence, 
 and went up stairs to my father's room. He held out 
 his hand as I entered, and smiled.
 
 240 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 " I am afraid you have been like Martha, my dear 
 Rose," he said, " anxious and troubled about many 
 things." — But the doctor and you seem to be of one 
 mind : I must give up all labour at present ; this poor 
 weak frame cannot bear it, it seems. — Well, love, 
 all is in His hands. I shall indulge, I think, to-night. 
 You can have tea up here, and then, Rose, you shall 
 read to me." 
 
 I could not ask him more particularly what the 
 doctor said. But he looked, though serious, so cheer- 
 ful, that I could not believe that there was any imme- 
 diate cause for apprehension. I had the tea-things 
 brought to his room as he requested, and then read to 
 him from the inspired volume. And so passed this 
 Sabbath evening. 
 
 It was some days before my father was able to rise 
 from bed. The last exertion had been far too severe, 
 and had left the most serious effects. The doctor 
 visited him daily ; but I could not succeed in drawing 
 from him any decided opinion upon his patient's state. 
 At first he endeavoured to evade my inquiries, and, 
 when I pressed them, his answers were so perplexing 
 and unsatisfactory, that I knew not what to make of 
 them. " I would fain hope so," was his only and 
 constant reply to any interrogation regarding my 
 father's improvement ; and with this I tried to satisfy 
 myself. The blood-spitting had not continued, though 
 occasionally it threatened to return, and this kept me 
 in some degree hopeful, though it was but a sad 
 flickering hope at the best.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 241 
 
 At the end of a week, he was able to venture down 
 stairs ; but I was painfully made certain of his in- 
 creasing debility. The slightest exertion had now 
 become fatiguing to him. He was extremely chilly ; 
 and unless sitting either by a large fire, or in the 
 little rose-covered porch, when the sun was at the 
 meridian (which he loved to do), he was uncomfort- 
 able. He became at last unable even for the exertion 
 of family worship. He attempted it on several occa- 
 sions ; but it brought on such fits of coughing, that I 
 begged and implored it might never be resumed. 
 His elders often came to see him, and he conversed 
 cheerfully with them ; and his brother minister, Mr 
 Patterson, rode over every few days to visit him. As 
 to the supply of ordinances for the people, the pres- 
 bytery agreed, while their own pastor was laid aside, 
 to preach for him in rotation. 
 
 How contented he was under it all ! I never 
 heard him murmur. I believe he suffered more than 
 we were aware of ; for often when he did not know I 
 was observing him, he would press his hand to his 
 side, and an expression of much pain would pass over 
 his face. Then those dreadful sleepless nights! 
 He would not allow me to sleep in his room, 
 which I was anxious to do : he spared me in what- 
 ever he could. But I used to steal to his door in 
 the darkness ; and then the weary tossing to and fro, 
 the frequent cough, and the deep-drawn breath, too 
 plainly told me why he would not have me there. 
 Oh ! if my mother had been spared, I used then to 
 vol. i. Q
 
 242 ROSE DOITCILAS. 
 
 think, — one whom he could not have restrained from 
 watching and soothing him. He thought more of 
 my fatigue than of his own suffering. He did not 
 suspect the painfulness of watching when one is 
 allowed to do nothing. 
 
 I do not know how hope fled from me. By little 
 and little I was brought to feel the truth. It was so 
 gradual, that I cannot say when I passed from hope 
 to its reverse, and found myself conversing with my 
 father on the change which must erelong take place. 
 An unseen hand, I believe, was supporting me all 
 this time, and my father's God was fulfilling his own 
 promise : " Cast thy fatherless children upon me, and 
 I will sustain them." Often during the still hours of 
 the night, when he fancied no ear but that of his 
 Heavenly Father was open, did I overhear his earnest 
 petitions for myself. He prayed that I might be 
 brought more and more to the knowledge of the 
 truth, — that I might be prepared for the trial which 
 awaited me, and that it might afterwards be sanctified 
 to me. He begged for daily bread for both body and 
 soul. 
 
 His worldly concerns had long been settled. He 
 had little to leave, — little beyond the furniture of the 
 house, and that was of too simple a description to be 
 worth much. " I hope, Eose, I have not brought 
 you up too tenderly," he once said, as if inwardly 
 reproaching himself. " You may have your bread to 
 earn, my poor child, and you are little fitted, I fear, 
 for the hard experiences of life. But I am wrong to
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 243 
 
 despond," he said, checking himself and looking 
 solemnly upwards : " God will temper the wind to the 
 shorn lamb." 
 
 I had written to my aunt in Glasgow whenever I 
 had become fully aware of my father's state. He 
 himself had suggested the propriety of doing so. But 
 my aunt was unable at present to come to us on account 
 of the illness of her youngest daughter. She begged 
 that I would write constantly, as neither she nor Mr 
 Dalgleish would grudge the postage, she said. She 
 hoped that Jemima would soon be better ; and if so, 
 she would instantly come to Auchtermuir. There 
 was no other relation whom it was my duty to sum- 
 mon. My father seemed disappointed. He would 
 have liked, he said, to have seen her once more, and 
 to have conversed with her about me. But God's 
 will be done ; — if they were not to meet each other 
 in this world, he trusted they would meet in 
 heaven. 
 
 Good old Mrs Johnstone ! Now that I could not 
 come to her, she came to me. She was a great com- 
 fort and support to me in my distress ; and it seemed 
 to relieve my father's mind of a great burden that I 
 had one motherly friend to console and help me. 
 She assisted me to nurse him ; and I had no hesita- 
 tion in leaving him for a short time every day to her 
 care while I went out, as he insisted I should do, 
 to take some exercise. But why do I mention one 
 individual ? for there was universal sympathy dis- 
 played throughout the parish.
 
 244 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 My father's mind dwelt much upon his flock. " My 
 poor people! 1 ' he would often say, "it is painful to 
 part from them ; but I trust the Lord will send them 
 a shepherd who will keep them better than I have 
 done. I have been too negligent about their souls. 
 I have not been so instant as I should have been." 
 He was so humble. He often spoke in this manner ; but 
 I knew that he had little cause for self-reproach upon 
 this point. Good Mrs Johnstone could not endure to 
 hear him arraign himself thus, and would often have 
 expostulated with him. But it always ended in her re- 
 treating from the room, that she might give vent to 
 her feelings in a crying-fit. " To hear him," she 
 said, " who had laboured wet and dry — night and 
 day — among them for thirty years ; to hear him up- 
 braiding himself in that way, it went to her heart." 
 
 The summer had now drawn to a close, and au- 
 tumn, with its melancholy emblems and pensive 
 beauty, was come. The fruit-harvest was gathered 
 in ; and the trees, no longer bending beneath their 
 golden load, looked bare and disconsolate. The 
 leaves were falling thickly, and already covered the 
 paths • and although at intervals the sun still shone 
 brightly through the early part of the day, with some of 
 the ancient heat of the summer in his beams, the morn- 
 ings and evenings were becoming cold and gusty. 
 The changing season had a bad effect upon the feeble 
 frame of the invalid. His cough increased both in 
 violence and frequency, and the pain in his side was 
 more distressing. He still, however, persisted in
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 245 
 
 coming down stairs, greatly, I fear, on my account, 
 for lie thought that constant sitting in his room was 
 prejudicial to me. He had still enough of strength 
 to ascend and descend the stairs with my assistance 
 or that of one of the servants. Well wrapt up, with 
 his limbs supported on a stool and protected by 
 blankets, he remained for a certain portion of each 
 day in his easy-chair in the parlour beside the tire, 
 while I read to him or conversed with him. 
 
 But the scene was drawing fast to a close. I knew 
 he could not be long spared ; but I had no idea death 
 was so near. As he was still able to leave his room, 
 I cherished the hope that he might linger on for some 
 months at least, and Dr M'Whirter said nothing 
 which showed he differed from me. He did not now 
 rise till far on in the forenoon (how different from his 
 old habit !) after which he remained about two hours 
 in his own room, where he took dinner, that he might 
 fully recruit from the fatigue of dressing before he 
 ventured down to the parlour. 
 
 One day he seemed rather stronger than usual. 
 He conversed more, and his cheerfulness almost in- 
 fected me. While we assisted him down stairs, he 
 required less of our help, and Nanny and I exchanged 
 congratulatory looks. When he was settled comfort- 
 ably in his chair beside the blazing fire, and I had so 
 placed the little old-fashioned standing screen, which 
 was my mother's work, as to protect his face from the 
 heat, he requested to see John, a thing which on 
 most days he was unable for. When John appeared,
 
 246 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 bonnet in hand, and his rough weather-beaten face 
 flushed with the haste he had made to answer the 
 unusual summons, he received a number of directions 
 concerning the glebe and garden, which my father 
 formerly had to send through me. Their conference 
 lasted a considerable time, and just at its close, old 
 Lowrie Walker, the weaver and Sabbath-school 
 teacher, came to the door, as he often did, to inquire 
 after my father's health. I admitted him, as I was 
 desired to do, and he sat for some time. I was be- 
 ginning to be afraid that all this exertion was too 
 much ; but he looked so well, that I could scarcely 
 suggest the propriety of quietness. When Lowrie had 
 gone away I got tea ready ; but when it was over, 
 instead of desiring me to read to him, which was his 
 usual custom at that time of day, he complained of 
 drowsiness. I proposed that he should go to bed, but 
 he was unwilling to do so, as his cough was sure to an- 
 noy him whenever he lay down. I therefore had the 
 fire mended, and having covered him up carefully 
 with a large plaid in addition to his blankets, I 
 dropped the curtain over the nearest window, and 
 then retreated to the other with my work, that he 
 might sleep in quiet. 
 
 This threw the upper part of the room where he 
 lay into deep shadow, only relieved by the firelight. 
 It was about six o'clock on an October evening, and 
 the sky was already grey ; but it was still light 
 enough to enable me to work, and I sewed away 
 silently for a considerable time. I sometimes paused
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 247 
 
 in drawing through my needle to listen to my father's 
 deep-drawn breathing, which was audible in the quiet 
 room ; but he soon seemed to fall into deeper slum- 
 ber, and I rejoiced at the refreshing rest he was ob- 
 taining. 
 
 The evening continued gradually to settle down. 
 It soon became too dark to allow me to work, and 
 laying my seam aside, I sat thoughtfully gazing out 
 upon the prospect. By and bye I saw Peggy with a 
 lighted lantern in her hand, going down to the stables 
 to milk the cow. This was always done at seven 
 o'clock, so that I now knew an horn* had passed 
 since my father had first fallen asleep. But the fire 
 was blazing brightly, and he was so warmly wrapt 
 up, that he slept as securely there as in bed. I had 
 no apprehensions for him. 
 
 To amuse myself, and pass away the time till he 
 awoke, I watched the effect of the firelight upon the 
 room, and thought what a striking picture it would 
 make. The broken light and shade, never at rest, as 
 the flame on the hearth rose and fell, reminded me of 
 an old painting in the dining-room at the Craiglands. 
 I had often marvelled that it had been left there, for 
 my father, who understood these things, had told me 
 that it was a production of one of the great old mas- 
 ters. It was considerably faded, but that might be 
 owing to neglect. The light darting up illuminated 
 my father's figure for one instant, and then left it 
 doubtful and indistinct. Now it shed a warm glow 
 upon the carpet and furniture, and then it suddenly
 
 248 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 left every object in gloom which the eye strove in vain 
 to penetrate. When I was weary of watching these 
 effects of light and shade, I again looked without. 
 How dark and denned the trees appeared against the 
 sky! They were rapidly becoming bare under the 
 influence of the season. The wind was rising, and 
 just as I looked out a sudden gust swept down a great 
 shower of leaves, which fluttered across the gravel to- 
 wards the window, against which they struck, many 
 of them lodging upon the sill. John would have to 
 sweep the turf to-morrow, — it had been somewhat 
 neglected of late. There was no redundancy of foli- 
 age now to hide our neighbour the church from our 
 view ; it stood distinct and brown among its own trees. 
 But the rusty old monuments on the walls could not 
 be discerned in the gloom. Again a figure emerges 
 from the darkness, — it is John coming in to supper. 
 He has given the horse his, and shaken down the 
 straw for his bed, and he is now ready to enjoy his 
 evening meal in the chimney corner. After him comes 
 Peggy. I heard the key turn in the byre-door a few 
 minutes ago, and now she appears bearing her lan- 
 tern in one hand, which throws a sudden gleam of 
 light on the bushes as she passes them, and in the 
 other is her milk-pail. I almost envy Peggy's light 
 heart, for she carols a song in a low tone as she comes 
 up the path. Nanny has told her that her master is 
 easier to-day. She disappears, and then all is vacancy 
 and quietness without, though occasionally the wind 
 rushes past in sudden fitful gusts, bending the tree-
 
 RUSE DOUGLAS. 249 
 
 tops before them, and whistling drearily through the 
 branches. 
 
 My father still continued to sleep, and it was so 
 quietly that I could not bear to disturb him. " Ah ! if 
 he could but sleep in this way at all times, perhaps he 
 might be restored even yet ! ' ' was my thought. I heard 
 a light step in the passage. I was afraid Xanny 
 might come in and disturb him. It was long past my 
 usual hour of ringing for candles, and she was pro- 
 bably bringing them of her own accord. I stole on 
 tiptoe to the door, fearful of awaking the sleeper, and 
 having informed her that he slept, desired her to leave 
 one of them on the table in the lobby, and I would 
 lift it in when he awoke, which I was in momentary 
 expectation of. I then drew the door softly to, and 
 again went back to my station in the window. 
 
 It is a solemnizing thing to sit alone and look out 
 upon the night. The world seems for the time to re- 
 cede far away, and the soul feels more deeply its im- 
 mortal destiny. As I fixed my eyes upon the sky 
 above, into which myriads of stars seemed to burst 
 into sight as I gazed, I felt how weak and ignorant I 
 was of myself, and how Almighty was that agency 
 which had called these wonderful orbs into existence, 
 and which still upheld them in their constant course. 
 But it was not that sense of weakness which prostrates 
 and enervates the mind, making it flee as it were from 
 the presence of God, — no, I felt that it soothed and 
 elevated it. He was my Father — my Saviour ; and 
 though the contemplation of these His glorious works
 
 250 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 filled my soul with wonder and solemnity, I experi- 
 enced, in the very power displayed in their formation 
 and upholding, a confidence that He was as able as 
 willing to keep that which, I trusted, I had committed 
 to him. The Creator was also the Kedeemer. How 
 that thought cheered my overburdened heart ! He 
 was dealing tenderly with me. 
 
 There they shone gloriously beautiful as in the first 
 hour of their creation, when all the assembled sons of 
 God shouted for joy ! No wonder, I thought, as I 
 continued to gaze upon the sky, that in the earlier 
 ages of the world, when the human mind was rest- 
 lessly groping for light and certainty amidst the dark- 
 ness which surrounded it, man associated those won- 
 derful works with his own destiny ! From the lonely 
 watchers on the Chaldean plains, from the sages of 
 ancient Egypt, renowned for their wisdom, had this 
 superstition emanated, till it even reached our own 
 remote island of the sea. It had passed away ; but 
 still to the Christian's eye those mystic lights con- 
 veyed a peculiar meaning, — he saw God in them, a 
 covenant God full of mercy and love towards his fallen 
 and erring creatures. How much more consolatory 
 is the later than the earlier creed ! 
 
 I could have sat thus engaged for hours ; for though 
 my natural disposition was gay, I had still always 
 possessed a dreaming, brooding spirit, which delighted 
 to ruminate on such subjects. But now that circum- 
 stances had repressed this native exuberance of mind, 
 I was doubly susceptible to all influences of a solemn
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 251 
 
 and meditative nature. But it was getting late, and I 
 began to wonder and to feel uneasy that my father 
 did not waken. I grew restless. The fire was getting 
 low, and I even felt chilly. I marvelled, so sensitive 
 as he was to cold, that he could continue to sleep. I 
 resolved again and again to rouse him, and rose for 
 the purpose, but still I hesitated. Was it not better 
 to let him sleep while he could ? — he who enjoyed so 
 little rest. I decided at all events to go up stairs and 
 ascertain how his bedroom fire burned before I awoke 
 him. It was blazing brightly, and I found Nanny 
 warming his bed. I told her my uneasiness, and she 
 advised me to waken him. 
 
 Irresolute and uncomfortable, I went down stairs. 
 I listened for some moments at the door, that I might 
 hear if he yet moved, before I entered ; but all was 
 still quiet. I stole through the room till near his 
 chair, and in the darkness I nearly threw myself 
 down, by stumbling over a stool which was in my 
 way. Even the noise I thus accidentally made did not 
 rouse him. I got half frightened, — the room was so 
 dark, and the silence so deep and oppressive. I could 
 hear my father's watch ticking distinctly. 1 felt what 
 we Scotch call eerie ; and to relieve the feeling, I 
 went back to the lobby, where one candle remained 
 burning by my desire. I paced up and down there 
 for a few minutes, occasionally pausing to listen at 
 the half-open parlour-door, — sometimes resolving to 
 summon Nanny for company. It was very dismal 
 remaining in the lobby ; for the frequent gusts of
 
 252 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 wind which hurried past shook the bolt of the door as 
 if a hand was trying to remove it, and the thick-fall- 
 ing leaves rattled wildly against it, as they were 
 swept on and on. I could not remain there any 
 longer, and at length I strove to throw off the strange 
 undefmable dread which was creeping upon me, and 
 resolved I would waken my father. I lifted the candle, 
 which was flaring in the draught of the passage, and 
 moved to the door. I paused there a moment to trim 
 it, and to listen : then summoning all my resolution, 
 I pushed it open and entered, shading the light with 
 my hand as I anxiously advanced, for fear it might 
 startle him up suddenly. I set down the candlestick 
 upon the table, and went up close to his chair. He 
 lay in the same attitude as when he had composed 
 himself at first to rest, and as if enjoying the deepest 
 repose. I was astonished at the calmness of his 
 sleep. But I must waken him — I must, I again and 
 again repeated to myself. His face was concealed 
 from me by the folds of the plaid which I had 
 gathered around him, and was also half turned to the 
 wall. But one of his hands was extended from be- 
 neath the covering, and I gently took hold of it. 
 Something in its touch alarmed me. I hastily 
 snatched up the candle, and let the light fall full 
 upon his face. A wild scream of uncontrollable agony 
 burst from me — my father was dead !
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 253 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The spring may come again, 
 
 The summer spread her store ; 
 
 A fairer land hath gained them hoth ; 
 
 They will return no more. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! the old grey hall, 
 
 The home of mirth and song ! 
 
 Ah ! storms and wintry weather 
 
 Are never absent long. 
 
 I IN vain lift my pen to describe the sufferings of the 
 few following days. As I attempt to write, memory 
 brings my sorrows so freshly to my mind, that I, an 
 old woman, feel as if they had again commenced. I 
 look back over a long course of years, and I am once 
 more the young sorrow-stricken girl, carrying her grief 
 into the solitude of her own chamber, and feeling that 
 consolation could only come from her God. It seems 
 a dreary, dismal dream to me now, looking back 
 through the long vista of years with all the calmness 
 which experience brings. But even then I was con- 
 scious the Lord was dealing mercifully with me, and 
 by outward affliction was leading me insensibly to 
 himself. 
 
 I remember being conscious of a vision of sorrowing.
 
 254 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 weeping faces bending over me, but indistinct and 
 flitting like the phantasma of a dream. Some recol- 
 lections I have, too, of a confusion and bustle taking 
 place in the house, in which, however, I had no share; 
 and then I remember becoming fully awake, and find- 
 ing myself undressed, and in my own bed, with good 
 old Mrs Johnstone sitting crying by my pillow. I 
 had been long insensible I was afterwards told ; and 
 when I recovered, I had fallen into a sleepy dreaming 
 state, which continued for days. 
 
 My strength had been severely tried during the 
 few past months, and anxiety of mind had also weak- 
 ened my body. I had struggled hard against fatigue 
 and lassitude in attending my father ; and now that 
 all anxiety on his account was over, I sank like a 
 child worn out when night comes. I was helpless, 
 body and mind alike, in the hands of those around 
 me. But they had kind hearts who tended me. 
 Dr M'Whirter could not understand my symptoms — 
 they puzzled him. Such excessive prostration of 
 strength, without any apparent disease, had never 
 before occurred in his practice ; and he could only 
 shake his head, and advise them to give me plenty of 
 nourishment. Mrs Johnstone understood the case 
 better. The heart, she saw, was stricken, and time 
 and gentleness could alone relieve it. When the third 
 day of my feebleness (I cannot call it illness) had 
 passed, she, however, felt that I must be roused from 
 this state of inertness. " If we could only get her to 
 shed tears,' 1 she said, " all would be well."
 
 HOSE DOUGLAS. 255 
 
 She accordingly set herself to the task. As I occa- 
 sionally answered her questions, and passively took 
 what was pressed upon me, she knew that I was not 
 unconscious ; and if she could but succeed in striking 
 the right chord, she felt she might be able to rouse my 
 dormant faculties. It was about five o'clock in the 
 afternoon. She sat by my bedside, and, as she after- 
 wards said, was mentally engaged in considering the 
 best manner in which she was likely to accomplish 
 her object. 
 
 I had been in a dosing state all day, but the stupor 
 must have been gradually yielding, for I opened my 
 eyes at the heavy noise of men's feet in the lobby ; 
 and when I opened them, I became conscious, as I 
 said before, of the good old woman sitting crying be- 
 side me. " What is the matter, dear Mrs Johnstone, 
 and what noise is that?" I asked. 
 
 Mrs Johnstone felt as if it were an immediate an-, 
 swer to her prayers ; and thinking it better to run 
 some risk rather than allow me to sink back perhaps 
 into the same lethargic state, with a kind of desperation 
 which made her heart throb, as she could only guess 
 the effect of her words upon me, she answered 
 immediately — " It 's the men, dear, with your 
 good father's coffin." She then paused breathlessly 
 to observe the consequences of her communication 
 to me. 
 
 The sequel proved she was right, though the shock 
 was severe at first. I was for some minutes power- 
 fully agitated ; but the mist which had obscured my
 
 250 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 mental faculties cleared slowly away, — and as my 
 motherly friend bent soothingly over me, I hid my 
 face on her kind bosom, and, to her great joy, was 
 able at last to weep. Such tears ! they fell in tor- 
 rents, and even Mrs Johnstone, who had prayed for 
 them, was frightened at their violence and long con- 
 tinuance ; but they relieved my poor oppressed heart. 
 I lay down afterwards like a weaned child. 
 
 Mrs Johnstone would not leave me, but slept that 
 night in my room, as she had done the two preceding 
 ones. I wept often, but my tears did me good ; and 
 Mrs Johnstone did not hesitate, when she saw me 
 composed and calm, to tell me of the arrangements 
 which had been made. In consequence of my inabi- 
 lity, she had taken it upon herself to intimate to my 
 friends in Glasgow the event which had occurred, and 
 she supposed that Mr and Mrs Dalgleish would pro- 
 bably arrive next day. Mr Patterson, my father's 
 old friend, had been over, and in the meantime had 
 undertaken the charge of all the arrangements. 
 
 Mrs Johnstone would not allow me to speak much 
 that night, but the following morning she made no 
 objections that I should rise when I wished to do so, 
 and she assisted me to dress. I was calm this morn- 
 ing. I had been early awake; and while all the 
 household were still asleep, I passed the hours in 
 meditating on the past, and in seeking support from 
 God. Sorrow would at times force its way and over- 
 whelm my mind ; but I endeavoured to stay myself 
 by the remembrance of God's promises : I felt their
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 257 
 
 power in the hour of affliction, and that my father's 
 God was also mine. Now that I was left alone in 
 the world, I saw how much I had put the creature in 
 the place of the Creator ; and, humbled to the dust 
 under a sense of my shortcomings and rebellion, I 
 besought Him henceforward to subdue my will en- 
 tirely to His, and to enable me to walk on my now 
 solitary path through this world, depending solely 
 upon Him. It was the peace springing from the self- 
 renunciation I was thus enabled to make, that pro- 
 duced the calm with which I looked forward to the 
 duties before me. My earthly father (alas ! how be- 
 loved he was) was taken from me, but I now indeed 
 truly felt that I had a Father in heaven. 
 
 I was anxious to be up and doing, but I was still 
 weak and nervous. Mrs Johnstone brought me my 
 breakfast before she allowed me to leave my room ; 
 but when that was over, I begged her to let me see my 
 father's body. She did not speak, but the tears stole 
 down her face, as she silently offered, after a moment's 
 hesitation, to support me from the room. My father's 
 room was at one end of the passage, and mine at the 
 other. A small closet in which he kept many of his 
 books was close by his bedroom, and both rooms were 
 shut in by an additional door from the passage. I 
 walked feebly along the passage supported on Mrs 
 Johnstone's arm. It was a boisterous October day, 
 and the rain pattered heavily against the narrow 
 windows of the spiral staircase. Nothing could be 
 more cheerless and desolate, and calculated to weigh 
 VOL. I. R
 
 258 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 down the spirits. The wind came in long sullen 
 blasts, sweeping the dead leaves, which fluttered 
 wildly from the trees, before it, and the glimpse I 
 caught in passing of the scene without was now as 
 melancholy and dismal as in summer it was pleasing. 
 I shivered half with cold and half with the additional 
 depression resulting from my view of the dreary 
 landscape : sorrow, however, chills the blood like old 
 age. The old house creaked and resounded with the 
 storm, which, till I left my room, which was small 
 and sheltered, I was scarcely conscious of. 
 
 The house was otherwise silent. There is a solem- 
 nity in the presence of death in a dwelling which 
 awes the most careless household. Ours was not that 
 however. We stole quietly through the passage. 
 Mrs Johnstone unlocked the outer door of my father's 
 chamber, and then went in alone to open the shutters. 
 She returned almost immediately, and I followed her 
 into the old familiar room with a sense of anguish 
 which was speedily relieved by a burst of tears. On 
 entering the room, the first object which met my eye 
 was a startling one, and made me shudder. It was 
 the cofhn for my father, which had been brought to 
 the house the previous night. The body was not yet 
 placed in it, as it was the old custom to wait for the 
 arrival of relations before that duty was performed, 
 and my aunt had not yet come. I shrunk from the 
 sight of the gloomy unsightly object, whose. narrow 
 bounds were soon to hold all I loved most in the 
 world, and threw a timid glance around the room, for
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 259 
 
 I had never before been brought into such close con- 
 tact with death. 
 
 How changed was that room ! It seemed but yes- 
 terday since I had looked in upon his sleeping face 
 between the curtains, and now these were tucked 
 back ; and instead of the living slumbering counte- 
 nance, there was a large white sheet which covered 
 the dead. How the very cleanliness and propriety 
 with which every thing around was arranged chilled 
 and oppressed the mind ! The garments laid aside, 
 the chair pushed carelessly away in the act of rising, 
 the lately opened book, — there were none of those 
 to speak of life and occupation. How different it 
 once had been ! How cheerful had been this little 
 chamber ! 
 
 Mrs Johnstone stepped solemnly to the bed, and 
 uncovered my father's face. I started at the change 
 upon it ; but it was only the passing impulse of the 
 moment, — the hue and the deep calm of death struck 
 me with surprise, though I expected them. The ex- 
 pression of the face was calm, unutterably calm : its 
 calmness sank into my heart. It seemed to speak to 
 me of that rest into which he had entered, — the rest 
 which remaineth for the people of God. I felt, 
 after the first moment, that it was consoling thus to 
 look upon it. I was so certain of his present blessed- 
 ness, that I could not mourn for him, though I myself 
 was desolate. With him it was " absent from the 
 body, present with the Lord; 1 ' and as I gazed upon 
 the clay-cold features, I felt how inexpressibly sweet
 
 260 RUSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 was the tie which unites the believer to Christ. How 
 willingly would I at that moment, if the Lord had 
 pleased, have laid myself down beside my dead father, 
 and left this cold sorrowful world for ever ! But ah ! 
 my pilgrimage was but begun, and his was ended. 
 
 I turned away, at length, to wipe the tears which 
 blinded my eyes, and then good Mrs Johnstone re- 
 verently replaced the sheet over the face. I leaned 
 on the same spot in the window ; and when I raised 
 my eyes, they fell upon the same objects that had 
 struck me, now many weeks ago, — the last time my 
 father had preached. How soon he would be laid 
 under that very stone which then had awakened such 
 a train of thought in my mind ! But erelong I would 
 be far away, and strangers' eyes alone would then look 
 upon it. The thought was bitter. It was indeed a 
 sad truth. I had now no claim to the manse : I had 
 no longer a home. Ministers' families are exposed to 
 peculiar trials. The heart clings to the spot in which 
 it was born. The house in which we spend our early 
 years becomes identified with ourselves. But we have 
 no alternative : the loss of a father in our case is soon 
 followed by a trial only next to that in bitterness. 
 We left the room. 
 
 My aunt and her husband did not make their ap- 
 pearance this day yet. No one called at the manse ; 
 for the day was so stormy as to keep every one at 
 home who might have wished to condole with me. 
 As the rain and wind moderated towards the evening, 
 one of the Jennies ventured over from Burnside,
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 261 
 
 charged with her mistresses' kind regards and sympa- 
 thies, and earnest inquiries regarding my health. Ah ! 
 it was for my father's they had formerly inquired. 
 Miss Menie, the servant said, would have come over 
 herself, and, indeed, had put on her things for the 
 purpose ; but the other ladies had persuaded her not 
 to venture out on so stormy a day, as she had a 
 touch of the rheumatism. 
 
 Jenny was the only stranger who came near us that 
 night ; and the whole household, dull and dispirited, 
 retired early to bed, — all except John, who had 
 scarcely spoken since his master's death. He had 
 once complained of inability to sleep, but the servants 
 had discovered that, instead of going to bed when he 
 retired to his cot, he had, for the last two nights, sat 
 musing very late over his peat fire. But he did not 
 know that he had been observed. 
 
 When I awoke the following morning, I felt stronger, 
 and was able to rise and go down stairs to breakfast. 
 Mrs Johnstone was then obliged to return to the Craig- 
 lands, and I embraced the opportunity of paying a 
 solitary visit to my father's room. 
 
 I again bent over the bed and gazed on my father's 
 pale, calm face. I have read, since that time, of a 
 good man who overcame the fear of death by gazing 
 steadfastly on the countenance of his dead child. It 
 was so with me at that moment. A calm morning 
 had succeeded to a stormy night. A feeble ray of 
 sunshine stole in when I opened the shutters, and fell 
 upon the cold white sheet which covered the body,
 
 262 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 and now it flickered for a moment on the pallid face. 
 It was an emblem, I thought, of faith shedding light 
 upon the tomb. 
 
 The presence of the dead, too, impressed so forcibly 
 the briefness and uncertainty of life. All earthly 
 things seemed so to fade away, and lose their import- 
 ance before it, that I felt our parting (bitter though 
 it was) was only for a short time. I knelt down and 
 prayed by the bedside, earnestly requesting light and 
 resignation, and then rose calmed and invigorated in 
 spirit. 
 
 Miss Menie Weir called during the course of the 
 forenoon, and she sat with me for a considerable time. 
 She was grieved with my sickly looks, and kindly 
 offered to stay and nurse me till all was over. But I 
 knew what a sacrifice this would be to her ; and though 
 I deeply felt her genuine kindness, I was glad to be 
 able to tell her that my aunt and her husband were 
 immediately expected. She was then anxious for me 
 to promise, before she left me, that I would come to 
 Burnside whenever my relations took their departure. 
 The tears streamed down my cheeks ; but I could 
 only shake my head in answer. I could not leave 
 my old home till compelled by necessity. She had 
 the delicacy to comprehend my feelings, and did not 
 press the subject ; and at last, though reluctantly, 
 she went away. I felt I loved Miss Menie. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, a chaise stopping at the gate 
 at last intimated the arrival of my aunt and her 
 husband. John was absent on some errand, and they
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 263 
 
 had to pause there till one of the women servants 
 hastened down and threw open the gate. I had suc- 
 ceeded this day in overcoming my reluctance to 
 enter the parlour where my father died, and was 
 waiting there for them. My heart began to beat 
 rapidly when I heard of their approach, for my nerves 
 were very unhinged. 
 
 The chaise came slowly up to the door, darkening 
 the windows of the parlour as it passed, and grating 
 along the gravel with its wheels. I felt much trepida- 
 tion at the approaching interview with these strange 
 relations. It was long since I had seen my aunt ; 
 for she had been so occupied by her family for many 
 years as to be unable to visit us at Auchtermuir, and 
 I had not been in Glasgow since I was a child. I 
 had not even a distinct idea of her appearance, but I 
 fancied that she would resemble my father. My 
 heart yearned towards her, as my only surviving 
 relation ; and I was anxious to love her and to be 
 loved by her. I had pictured her taking me to her 
 bosom, and bidding me regard myself as her child. 
 He had been tender-hearted, and so must she be. 
 But I was by nature, and owing to my retired educa- 
 tion, shy and reserved, except with intimate friends ; 
 and instead of hastening to receive and welcome my 
 aunt, I remained standing in the middle of the room 
 flurried and nervous at the prospect of meeting her. 
 
 When the chaise stopped at the door, it was im- 
 mediately opened by Nanny, who had hurried back 
 for the purpose, Then there were for a few minutes
 
 264 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 a considerable bustle, and a great whispering, as if 
 some one was either asking questions or giving direc- 
 tions in a female voice, mixed however occasionally 
 with the louder but still suppressed tones of a man. 
 It all issued from the interior of the chaise, from 
 which the travellers seemed in no hurry to descend ; 
 and was occasioned, I afterwards heard from Nanny, 
 who was somewhat scandalized by it, by my aunt's 
 anxiety about her different packages, and her un- 
 willingness to move till she had sent them all before 
 her into the house. 
 
 " Mind the valise that 's under the seat too, Meg," 
 I heard in the masculine voice, which sounded good- 
 natured ; — " if you let the man drive aff wi' it, I '11 be 
 at a loss for a coat, for there 's mair blackbirds than 
 tailors here I would think." 
 
 This speech was followed by a heavy descent from 
 the chaise and a few steps along the lobby, where 
 however Mr Dalgleish (for I presumed it was he) 
 paused for his wife to join him. It seemed that the 
 valise could not be extracted till my aunt herself got 
 out ; for after a few moments' bustle she followed 
 him. But then there was the man to pay, and that 
 again took some time ; and there were a great jingling 
 of coin, mixed with a little grumbling, and the bump- 
 ing of heavy packages which Nanny was conveying 
 into the house (how strange and unpleasant the noise 
 seemed to me at such a time), before I heard my 
 aunt's voice inquiring for me. I now felt it necessary 
 to make my appearance, and endeavouring to regain
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 265 
 
 composure, I moved to the door for the purpose of 
 receiving them. But it was suddenly thrown open 
 by Mr Dalgleish, who being ignorant that the floor, 
 an old one, had sunk somewhat lower than the stone 
 passage, came stumbling into the room in such a 
 manner as nearly to destroy his equilibrium, making 
 me start back as I was advancing. 
 
 " Take care, Mr Dalgleish, take care," said his 
 wife sharply, as she followed him into the room. 
 
 " It 's the floor's faut and no mine, Maggie," re- 
 plied her husband as he recovered his balance. " But 
 here's your niece, I suppose. How are ye, my 
 dear?" and he shook my hand in a very kindly 
 manner, intended, I suppose, to express his sympathy 
 for my loss. 
 
 Mr Dalgleish was a little stout man, — indeed, very 
 stout. His face was also extremely rubicund, coarse- 
 grained like the hue of a winter apple, but there was 
 a merry twinkle in his eye. His whole aspect spoke 
 the most genial good temper ; and you were instantly 
 conscious that you looked at an honest, well-meaning 
 man, though he might be a vulgar one. My aunt, 
 though also short in size, was thin and spare in her 
 figure, which gave her a much more youthful look than 
 her age warranted. She was only three years younger 
 than my father, and he was fifty-six at his last birth- 
 day. I glanced timidly but anxiously towards her as 
 she approached. I was disappointed that I could trace 
 no likeness in her face to my father, as I had fondly 
 expected to find. Her features were sharp, and she
 
 266 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 had a pair of keen black eyes — his were grey. His 
 pale, thoughtful, reflective face, and large brow, were 
 quite the opposite of hers. I heaved a deep sigh as 
 the vision I had pictured vanished. 
 
 My aunt greeted me, I suppose, just in the manner 
 that might have been expected. She came up to me 
 and took my hand, and asked how I did. But I had 
 expected so much that I felt her greeting was cold and 
 formal. I ought to have remembered that I was a 
 stranger to her. The emotions which I thought to 
 have given vent to on her bosom were forced back 
 into my own, and the tears which were ready to over- 
 flow remained frozen in my eyes. But I endeavoured 
 to conceal my disappointed feelings, and to receive 
 them in a proper manner. My aunt, after she had 
 spoken to me, glanced hastily round the room, and was 
 somewhat agitated. It soothed me to see she was. 
 She then sat down, and soon recovering herself, be- 
 gan to excuse the delay which had taken place in their 
 leaving home. She had had to wait, she said, till her 
 mourning was got ready, and it had only arrived the 
 previous night. This morning was the earliest period 
 they could get away. 
 
 I inquired after my cousin's health, and learned that 
 she was much better, though still weak. 
 
 " Ay — poor Jemima has had a sair tout of it," said 
 Mr Dalgleish, already planting himself on the rug, 
 and leaning his back against the chimney-piece to 
 have the full benefit of the fire. " I think, my dear, 
 Miss Rose here is no unlike her."
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 267 
 
 u Well, there may be some likeness," replied my 
 aunt shortly ; " but Jemima is dark and Rose is fair." 
 
 " So she is ; but there 's a something, however. 
 Your cousins will show ye what Glasgow air is, and 
 what Glasgow fare is too, my dear, ha, ha! — Your 
 cousin Jemima wad mak' twa o' you when she 's weel, 
 — wouldn't she, Mrs D. ?" with a complacent nod ad- 
 dressed to his wife. 
 
 I saw my aunt frown to him. " Yes, I think Rose 
 is very thin, but of course she has had a good deal to 
 do lately, Mr Dalgleish," she answered demurely. 
 
 Mr Dalgleish assumed a grave look immediately, 
 as if conscious he had forgot himself; but it was evi- 
 dently a restraint, as he was inclined to be cheerful 
 and communicative after his journey. I saw already 
 that my aunt kept the reins of government in her 
 hands. 
 
 I now asked them if they had dined, and was glad 
 to hear (fearing that Mr Dalgleish might be particu- 
 lar) that they had done so when they changed horses 
 in Hamilton. " And they gave us a good dinner, too," 
 said Mr Dalgleish. " Carrie's folk are very attentive, 
 I must say. We thought it best to take a chack 
 there, as markets arena very plentiful in the coun- 
 try, and we didna ken how ye might be provided. 
 Hem ! " 
 
 Mr Dalgleish had a way peculiar to himself of clear- 
 ing his throat at the end of his sentences, which gave 
 them a somewhat pompous effect. But it was a good- 
 natured pomposity, resulting merely from his satisfac-
 
 268 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 tion with his own position, and with all that belonged 
 to him. He was a wealthy man, and, moreover, had 
 the pleasure of feeling that he owed his wealth to his 
 own exertions. Setting a little ostentation aside, the 
 natural consequence of a position to which he was not 
 born, he was a worthy generous man in his own way. 
 As yet I was not aware of this, but time developed 
 his character. 
 
 I said I should get tea ready for them immediately, 
 and left the room to order it. When I returned I 
 offered to show my aunt to her bedroom, which she 
 accepted. I took her up stairs. Our only spare room 
 was next to mine. It was small, and of course only 
 plainly furnished, having never been renewed since 
 my father's marriage thirty years before. No doubt 
 there were many deficiencies. I was rather surprised 
 and dismayed, when we entered the room, at the quan- 
 tity of luggage my aunt had thought fit to bring with 
 her. A valise and trunk were on the floor, and the 
 bed, chairs, and chest of drawers, were littered with 
 bandboxes and small parcels. They certainly left 
 little room for moving about. My aunt looked about 
 her with a dissatisfied air on entering, and uttered some 
 disparaging remarks on the accommodations, which 
 somewhat surprised me and hurt my feelings. Of 
 course she missed things which had perhaps become 
 essential to her comfort, and the room was a small 
 one : still I thought the present melancholy circum- 
 stances in which we both stood might have induced her 
 to overlook these deficiencies, or at least closed her lips
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 269 
 
 in regard to them. I began to be afraid I might not 
 be able to like her, and that sent a pang to my heart, 
 for she was my only relation now. I did the best 
 I could to move the things out of her way ; and 
 whether she felt ashamed of her hastiness at such a 
 time, or was softened by observing my evident 
 anxiety to please her, she cleared her countenance, 
 and thanking me, desired me to go down stairs and 
 get tea ready. 
 
 I was going away when she called me back to ask 
 some particulars about my father's death. It was a 
 painful subject for me to speak about, and I was soon 
 weeping, and indeed so was my aunt, who sat down 
 among her half-opened bundles to listen to me. She 
 had evidently at one time been attached to my father, 
 though they had seen little of each other for many 
 years, for my father seldom went from home, and our 
 chief intercourse with our Glasgow friends had been 
 through the carrier, by whom we occasionally ex- 
 changed tokens of good- will. When I had given her 
 a tolerably full description of his illness from its com- 
 mencement to his death, which occupied some time, J 
 she rose wiping her eyes, and began anew to arrange 
 her things ; so I left her. 
 
 I found Mr Dalgleish seated before the fire, with 
 his sturdy legs (cased in drab gaiters which buttoned 
 closely up to his knees) extended one on each side of 
 the grate. He altered his position to a standing one, 
 however, when I entered, and asked me in a jocose 
 tone, which evidently was natural to him, and as if
 
 270 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 he had perfectly forgot the melancholy circumstances 
 of the family, " when the gudewife might be expected 
 to come, for he was yawpish?" 
 
 I answered that my aunt would be down imme- 
 diately, and that he would not have long to wait for 
 tea ; and just at that moment Nanny brought in the 
 tray. He appeared interested in watching her prep- 
 arations, and lifted a cup from the table to examine, 
 which he decidedly pronounced to be fine china, and 
 very like a set he remembered his mother had had. 
 All this was done with such simplicity and good- 
 nature, that I could not find fault with his want of 
 sympathy, even though it jarred a little on my feel- 
 ings. I saw he had no intention of wilfully paining 
 me, and that his remarks (though rather unseasonable) 
 resulted merely from a happy insensibility of mind 
 which could not realize sorrow, unless personally 
 brought home to himself. Of course there was a cer- 
 tain selfishness in this ; but then there was no hypo- 
 crisy. He soon laid down the cup and began to turn 
 his eyes about the room. 
 
 u Comfortable old house this," he said, with the 
 tone of a man whose superior accommodations could 
 allow him to be complimentary to others. " A very 
 snug little parlour. But those bushes I noticed at the 
 windows when we came in must bring in an awful 
 vermin in summer. You should cut them down. — 
 Hem, I forgot. — Ye '11 be better aff in the toun, my 
 dear." There was a short pause : he resumed — " We 
 have had some of our rooms furnished spick and span
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 271 
 
 new this last year. Bailie Craig was quite taken 
 with the dining-room chairs the other day — but we 
 spared no expense. That, noo," he added, pointing 
 to an antique cabinet which stood in the room, the 
 gift of an old lady to my father twenty years before, 
 and which had been a particular favourite of his — 
 " that noo is a bit bonny thing o' the kind, I dare- 
 say — but auld-fashioned — very auld-fashioned. What 
 name do ye gie it?" 
 
 I said it was a Dutch cabinet, I believed. 
 
 " A Dutch cabinet ! Ay, ay ; — it 's no unlike some 
 things I hae seen in Geordie Grey's house, — but 
 Geordie 's a great man for nick-nacks. But it 
 wadna dae in our rooms, — a' our things are new." 
 
 My aunt here made her appearance, having got rid 
 of all her wrappings. She was handsomely dressed, 
 and I was surprised how young she looked. She 
 entered with a grave solemn step, and with a counte- 
 nance evidently composed to rebuke the levity of her 
 husband, on whom it had an immediate effect, for he 
 became silent. She took a place by the tea-table, 
 and he followed her example. I made tea for them, 
 and endeavoured to be as attentive as possible ; but 
 I was growing more and more depressed in spirits, 
 for I felt there was little congeniality of feeling be- 
 tween my strange friends and me. Mrs Dalgleish 
 had for so many years been separated from her brother, 
 while her own family were growing up about her and 
 engrossing her affections, that he had long ceased to 
 be a first object to her. I was disappointed. I missed
 
 272 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 the motherly, homely kindness of good Mrs Johnstone, 
 which had never tired watching over me during the 
 two past days. Perhaps I had expected too much 
 from my aunt, judging of her by my own quick feel- 
 ings, and now did not make due allowances for what 
 was missing in her. I felt intuitively that though 
 depressed and solemnized by her arrival in the house 
 of mourning, her sorrow was of a different nature 
 from mine, and that I must shut up my grief in my 
 own bosom. I had looked forward to my aunt's 
 coming with eagerness ; but there was a something 
 (even though courtesy was not wanting) in her man- 
 ner, and in the calm propriety with which she ex- 
 pressed herself, that warned me I must not expect to 
 repose my wearied heart upon her. All that was 
 really proper to do and say, I was sure she would 
 fulfil upon the occasion ; but she would neither feel 
 nor sympathize with violent emotion, nor any thing 
 out of the common beaten track of feeling. 
 
 We sunk gradually into silence. Mr Dalgleish 
 seemed inclined enough to converse ; but as my aunt 
 only answered in monosyllables, and I was little dis- 
 posed for conversation, he at length applied himself 
 to the bread and butter and cold meat in quietness. 
 Even he could not altogether forget that there was 
 death in the house, for my aunt's manner must have 
 impressed it upon him each time he met her look. 
 The stillness and seclusion of the country too, in com- 
 parison with the bustle of the town, had gradually an 
 influence upon him : he more than once alluded to
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 273 
 
 tins during the evening, as if it struck him strangely, 
 and asked me if I never felt dull in such a quiet 
 place. 
 
 I said I was accustomed to it ; at which answer he 
 shook his head, and said he was sure he never could 
 become so, and that he would rather hear the bells at 
 the Cross any day than all the birds in the country. 
 I daresay he spoke the truth. 
 
 There was a melancholy duty to discharge this 
 night. One or two of the elders, and some other 
 friends, came to see their minister's head laid in his 
 coffin. My aunt seemed much affected at the sight 
 of my father's body. But, oh ! What anguish I felt 
 when my trembling hands, assisted by one of the 
 elders, helped to lay his head in its narrow bed ! I felt 
 for the time so utterly desolate, so helplessly forlorn, 
 that my heart seemed breaking. 
 
 How thankful was I that night when my relations 
 retiring to rest left me once more alone ! It was a 
 luxury I had panted for during the last few hours. I 
 could weep and mourn as I liked in my own little 
 room. I was sick at heart. I felt now more and 
 more what I had lost, and how impossible it was that 
 it could ever be made up to me. I saw my aunt 
 could never fill my father's place, and that I must 
 learn that difficult lesson, for one trained as I had 
 been, to be self-sustaining. Perhaps my judgment 
 of my aunt was too hasty ; but I had a nature made 
 up of quick impulses, and I was young and sensitive. 
 VOL. I. s
 
 274 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 I might not have judged so hardly at a more ad- 
 vanced age. But I had been the child of a doting- 
 father, and anything short of warmth of sympathy 
 appeared to me like indifference. I felt that, but for 
 a few humble devoted friends, I was alone in the 
 world ; and from these friends I was conscious (though 
 as yet I could not suffer my mind to dwell upon it) I 
 must soon be separated. After this happened, to 
 whom could I look for kindness, for sympathy ?
 
 HOSE DOUGLAS. 275 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Alas, alas ! what mourning train 
 
 Is winding down the glen ? 
 
 What mean these weeds of deepest wo ? 
 
 What brings these sorrowing men ? 
 
 Next day was Sabbath, and my father's pulpit was 
 vacant. The stillness of the sacred day was doubled. 
 Our seclusion was unbroken. I missed the bell at 
 the hour when it was usually rung. No " old 
 familiar faces " were visible winding down the de- 
 clivity and glancing through the hedge on their way 
 to the church. No little knots were gathered round 
 the porch, or solitary individuals poring over the 
 tombstones till the hour of worship arrived. This 
 day- week my father had been alive, and I was sitting 
 by him during the ringing of the bell. What a 
 change had taken place since then ! 
 
 Both Mr Dalgleish and my aunt seemed to rind 
 that time hung heavy on their hands this day. They 
 did not know how to employ themselves so as to re- 
 lieve their weariness. My aunt disguised her ennui 
 best, but Mr Dalgleish could not conceal his. He 
 yawned repeatedly, even at our meals, which were
 
 276 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 his briskest moments, and was constantly looking 
 at his watch, and wondering at the slowness with 
 which the hours passed over. " It was so different 
 in the town," he said " for there the days seemed 
 sometimes too short." As he did not care for reading 
 (neither did my aunt) and it would not have been 
 decorous at present to be seen far beyond the gate, 
 he had no other way of amusing himself than by 
 wandering about the garden and stables, where he 
 minutely inspected all the live stock, from the pigs to 
 the cow and horse. He also contrived to peep into 
 the kitchen and dairy. 
 
 After dinner, my aunt accompanied him to the 
 garden ; and as I passed up the staircase, I saw them 
 walking up and down there, she speaking earnestly 
 and he listening to her. I suppose it was concerning 
 me and future arrangements ; for after tea that night, 
 they both drew in their chairs near the fire, as if by 
 previous agreement ; and my aunt, who had been 
 absent and irritable at times during the day, said that 
 she and Mr Dalgleish wished to have some talk about 
 what was to be done with me in future. 
 
 I was taken by surprise. I was not prepared for 
 this sudden introduction of a subject which I knew 
 must however be discussed before long ; but I never 
 thought otherwise than that it would be postponed 
 till the funeral was over. I felt agitated, more especi- 
 ally as I did not like the way in which my aunt 
 brought it forward. It seemed as if the responsi- 
 bility thrown upon her by my having no other
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 277 
 
 relation, was no welcome one. It was painful to 
 suspect this, for I had no one else to turn to. Be- 
 sides, it was Sabbath ; and I had been trained in a 
 careful reverence for that holy day. I hesitated. I 
 was at a loss for words to express my present feel- 
 ings ; but I must have looked them, for my aunt 
 replied, as it were, to them by saying, that as the 
 funeral was to take place next day, and Mr Dalgleish 
 and she must positively return home on Tuesday, 
 since she could not be longer away from her family, 
 it was absolutely necessary, and a duty upon her 
 part (she laid an emphasis upon the latter words) 
 that some arrangement should be made, as it would 
 be absolutely impossible that either of them could 
 return to Auchtermuir, and of course I must soon 
 leave it myself. My aunt uttered these words in a 
 cool and business-like manner, free from emotion of 
 any kind. She had evidently made up her mind to 
 come to an early understanding with me. Her turn 
 was practical, and she meant no unkindness, though 
 she showed little sympathy. 
 
 11 Could you not put it off till to-morrow evening?" 
 I said timidly at length, with tears in my eyes. " I 
 am anxious, indeed, aunt, to have your and Mr 
 Dalgleish' s advice as to what course I should adopt. 
 But I am not prepared, and would much rather post- 
 pone it, if your please, till to-morrow night." 
 
 My aunt did not look pleased, and seemed to feel 
 that my wish to postpone the subject was a reflection 
 upon her.
 
 278 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 " I 'm not in the practice/' she said after an omi- 
 nous pause, " of speaking about business on the 
 Sabbath-day. But in this case I felt it to be a work 
 of necessity and mercy. I have no objections, how- 
 ever, and I suppose you have none, Mr Dalgleish," 
 turning to her husband. 
 
 11 No, no, — no objections, my dear — arrange it as 
 you like — hem ! " he said. 
 
 " Then we can put it off till then, as you are so 
 anxious about it," said my aunt, rather more graci- 
 ously, though still a little ruffled ; and I felt relieved 
 at my present escape. I sat down beside them, wish- 
 ing to be as conciliatory as possible ; but Mr Dal- 
 gleish fell almost immediately into a sound sleep, 
 accompanied by snoring, which lasted till bed-time, 
 while my aunt, as if to atone for her late proposal, 
 took a large Bible commentary from the bookcase, 
 and became apparently so immersed in its contents 
 that she took no further notice of either of us. 
 
 The following morning ushered in my father's 
 funeral-day. It was a grey misty one, and threatened 
 to end in rain. It was the saddest day yet of all 
 that I had experienced. I for the first time assumed 
 my mourning which Mrs Johnstone had ordered for 
 me. My aunt made her appearance at breakfast 
 handsomely dressed in hers. She looked quiet and 
 subdued as the occasion demanded, but not so Mr 
 Dalgleish. The bustle seemed more congenial to his 
 mind than the stillness of the preceding day. He 
 was chief mourner.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 279 
 
 The funeral was to take place at one, and before 
 the company assembled, I stole into my father's room 
 to take a last look. My aunt followed me, and she 
 then accompanied me into my own room. I would 
 rather have been alone, but she chose to remain with 
 me. It was a large funeral ; for many of the presby- 
 tery attended it, and a large body of the parishioners. 
 How the noise and bustle went to my heart as I sat 
 leaning my throbbing head upon the bed! There 
 was quietness for a considerable time when the com- 
 pany were fully assembled ; but when the fastening 
 down of the coffin, and the heavy sounds of the feet 
 bearing it from the chamber, at last reached my ears, 
 I tried to deaden them by burying my head among 
 the bedclothes. I felt as if I had lost him over again, 
 and I gave an hysterical cry that brought my aunt to 
 my side. She tried to comfort me in her own way. 
 But it could not be yet. Nature would force her 
 way ; and I wept and sobbed bitterly. 
 
 The procession soon left the house. I was sensible 
 of it from the stillness and the echoes of the retreat- 
 ing footsteps, and rising from the bed I hastened to 
 the window. The mourners were just issuing from 
 the gate. The coffin was borne shoulder-high by six 
 of the parishioners, who had requested to be so em- 
 ployed. Oh ! what a sight it was to the poor 
 orphan ! I watched them moving slowly along the 
 churchyard-path till they reached the spot where 
 my mother was buried. I saw the coffin gradually 
 lowered till it was hidden for ever from my sight,
 
 280 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 and then, overpowered by my feelings, I fell fainting 
 on the floor. 
 
 I was revived by the application of strong essences 
 to my nostrils and by bathing my face with water. 
 My aunt had called for assistance ; and Mrs John- 
 stone, who had come over to see me, but had not 
 liked to enter my room while my aunt was with me, 
 hurried to me followed by both servants. The latter 
 were crying at the foot of the bed when I opened my 
 eyes. Mrs Johnstone was bathing my forehead. My 
 aunt brought me a glass of wine, and after I drank it, I 
 felt revived. But she would not allow me to rise, and, 
 indeed, I was not yet fit for it. Mrs Johnstone said she 
 would remain with me ; and seeing me fully restored, 
 my aunt went down stairs, followed by the servants. 
 
 The door was no sooner shut upon them, than I 
 turned and threw my arms round my kind old friend's 
 neck. To her, I knew I could pour out my whole 
 heart unreservedly ; and, oh ! it was a relief to speak 
 to her of my sufferings, and to give vent to them be- 
 fore her. 
 
 "My bairn, my bairn!" sobbed the good woman ; 
 " God help you ! But it 's a sair trial this for your 
 young heart. Oh ! Rose, dear, say the Lord's will 
 be done." 
 
 "His will be done! yes, His will be done!" I 
 said, clasping my hands fervently, — " I can say it, 
 Mrs Johnstone. But this is the most trying day. 
 My father ! my dear father ! " 
 
 " He is gane to his rest, Rose ; ye wadna wish
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 281 
 
 him back. Would you wish him again in this sad 
 sorrowful world, now that he kens the blessedness of 
 the next ? Oh ! seek you to meet him there, Rose, 
 and then there will be nae mair partings, and a' tears 
 will be wiped from your eyes. For the sake of him 
 that 's away, try to be comforted." 
 
 " I will, I will. I did think I would have been 
 more composed. But I am better now. Is it all 
 over, Mrs Johnstone ? 
 
 " The funeral, dear? — Yes, it 's over ; and there 's 
 mony a sad heart amang them that were there, forby 
 yours, hinny. But lie down again, and rest your- 
 sel' ; " and she laid me gently back again upon my 
 bed, and with my hand in hers, my second mother 
 sat down to soothe and watch me. I did as she bade 
 me, and lay still, that I might attain some tranquil- 
 lity before entering into conversation with my aunt 
 and her husband that night on my future prospects. 
 It could not, from what she had said, be put off, and I 
 now longed to have it over, for the subject had much 
 occupied my mind since it had been mentioned ; and 
 I had even a kind of plan in contemplation, which I 
 meant to propose to them. 
 
 I lay still for about two hours, all which time Mrs 
 Johnstone remained with me, and during which my 
 aunt appeared to inquire for me. I then rose and 
 went down stairs, and joined her and Mr Dalgleish. 
 I found the house put to rights, and all the company 
 gone, even the few who had returned for refreshments. 
 Mr Patterson had been grieved to hear of my illness,
 
 282 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 but was compelled to go home. He however left me 
 a kind message, and promised to ride over next day : 
 he knew I had relations with me. My aunt and Mr 
 Dalgleish were very kind, and seemed to feel for me 
 to-night. They made me sit beside the fire ; and my 
 aunt made the tea herself. 
 
 After tea, I myself commenced the conversation on 
 my affairs, and requested their advice on a plan which 
 I had in view for my future support. 
 
 My aunt seemed somewhat surprised to hear that I 
 had a plan; but said that she and Mr Dalgleish were 
 very willing to do all in their power for me. " Of 
 course, my dear," she continued, " we are aware 
 there can be very little provision for you ; for there 's 
 little can be saved off a country stipend, and your poor 
 father was always a liberal man, considering his 
 means. But we will hear your plan, as you call it, 
 though what a girl of your age can do to maintain 
 herself, I don't know." 
 
 I said, as humbly as I could, that I thought I might 
 do something for myself by teaching. I was anxious 
 to earn my bread; and would never, I trusted, be a 
 burden upon my relations (there was a little pride in 
 this). If they could assist me in obtaining pupils, I 
 should feel deeply indebted to them. 
 
 My aunt and her husband looked at each other, 
 and the latter whistled. My aunt paused. 
 
 " We certainly have never thought of that," she 
 said at length, with an incredulous expression in her 
 face. " I never guessed that you would be able for
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 283 
 
 teaching, and it was Mr Dalgleish's opinion, as well 
 as mine, that there was nothing for it but to take you 
 home, and keep you as one of our own family." 
 
 I felt the rebellious blood rising to my face while 
 my aunt said this in her usual cool manner ; but as I 
 believed she meant kindly, I determined not to allow 
 myself to become offended at any want of delicacy. 
 
 " Mr Dalgleish and you are very kind," I answered 
 faulteringly, " but I think I could succeed as I have 
 proposed, and I would like to be independent." 
 
 " Well — that 's a good spirit, at any rate," said Mr 
 Dalgleish, hitching his chair cheerfully nearer to the 
 fire. " What say ye to that, Mrs D. ? " 
 
 " It 's all very well, Mr Dalgleish," said my aunt, 
 drawing herself up, " if Kose is fit for it. But I 
 know more about these things than you; and how she 
 could get any genteel accomplishments here, I cannot 
 tell. There 's no piano, I know, in the house." 
 
 I hastily answered, " that I did not mean to pretend 
 to what are called accomplishments ; but I could give, 
 I was certain, a plain English education, besides that 
 I knew something of foreign languages." 
 
 u French, I suppose ? " said my aunt inquiringly. 
 " Well, I believe that 's coming a good deal into 
 fashion." 
 
 " I know also a little Latin and Italian," I said 
 timidly. 
 
 Mr Dalgleish, who listened most attentively, opened 
 his eyes wide at this, and whistled again, but did not 
 speak. He seemed as a matter of course to leave
 
 284 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 his wife to carry on the conversation. But my aunt 
 did not confine her surprise to looks. 
 
 " Latin and Italian ! " she exclaimed in a tone of 
 wonder. " Did my brother really teach you Latin 
 and Italian ? No wonder then that you 're so different 
 from other girls of your age, and that you can act so 
 well for yourself. I don't mean to offend you, my 
 dear ; but certainly that has struck both Mr Dalgleish 
 and myself. My girls, I am thankful to say, are just 
 like other young people, and need wiser heads to 
 guide them. But, my dear, what good can Latin and 
 Italian do for you?" 
 
 I said, " my father considered an acquaintance with 
 them of consequence. The study of the classics he 
 thought almost essential to the formation of a correct 
 style." 
 
 " Style of what?" said my aunt, somewhat impa- 
 tiently. I saw that she did not understand me, and 
 perhaps thought me too assuming and dogmatical. 
 I therefore hastened to explain myself as clearly as I 
 could. But my aunt evidently thought I was talking 
 nonsense. 
 
 " Well, it may be so, but I know nothing about it," 
 she said in answer ; " and of course my brother, poor 
 man, might be a better judge — but I don't think Latin 
 and Italian will stand you in any stead in Glasgow. 
 If you knew how to play the piano now, or to work 
 satin-stitch, or to embroider the globes in silk, some- 
 thing might be got for you." 
 
 " I can sew well and knit," I said anxiously, be-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 285 
 
 ginning to feel despondent ; for my aunt's words made 
 an impression, inexperienced as I was. 
 
 u So can any seamstress," said my aunt, disparag- 
 ingly. " This will never do, Rose, unless you mean 
 to earn your bread by whiteseam, and to take boys 
 for scholars ; for what girl leams Latin ? It will never 
 do, I tell you. But a thought has come into my head, 
 and if you would just go up stairs into your own room, 
 or maybe into the kitchen, for a minute, I will speak 
 to Mr Dalgleish about it." 
 
 I rose immediately. " Come back in ten minutes," 
 said my aunt, as I left the room ; " that will be long 
 enough." 
 
 I went slowly and sadly up stairs, for my heart was 
 growing heavy. My plans for independence seemed 
 on the point of being annihilated ; and no other pro- 
 spect appeared before me but that of entering my 
 aunt's family as a poor relation, sustained by the 
 bounty of others. I sat down to think, during the 
 interval allowed me, and turned the subject in every 
 possible light in my mind. Of course my aunt was a 
 woman who had lived more in the world than I had 
 done, and consequently had more experience. She 
 could judge better as to the kind of education pre- 
 ferred in families. But then I was quite aware that 
 she herself had not enjoyed the advantages of a liberal 
 education, and was therefore apt to undervalue its 
 importance. Satin-stitch and embroidered globes 
 were very well in their way, but there must be, I was 
 certain, some enlightened parents in Glasgow (my
 
 286 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 native place was out of the question), who would 
 overlook my deficiencies in these points, in considera- 
 tion of the more important branches of education 
 which I felt I could conscientiously undertake to teach. 
 I became still more convinced of this as I reflected 
 upon it ; and when I rose to go down stairs at the 
 end of the time appointed, my hopes had not deserted 
 me of being able to convince both of my relations of 
 the practicability of my plan. It was true, as my 
 aunt had hinted, that I had a good deal of self-reli- 
 ance and decision, of character for one so young. But 
 circumstances had for the first time brought them in- 
 to action. I felt my energies awaking to encounter 
 my emergencies ; and it was well I did so, for they 
 were needed. I am certain that my aunt wished to 
 act kindly towards her brother's child, but she felt 
 annoyed at the burden imposed on her. Mr Dalgleish 
 and she had a family of their own to provide for ; so 
 that to have a strange niece thus thrust helplessly 
 upon their hands, in addition, was a trying thing. I 
 could make allowance for such feelings, even at that 
 time, though I did wish that my aunt could have con- 
 cealed them better in my presence, for they pained 
 me exceedingly. I could so far make allowances, I 
 say, for my aunt's hastiness and want of sympathy. 
 The subject of my future destination engrossed, of 
 course, her mind, producing a certain irritation of man- 
 ner, which at first surprised, but afterwards wounded 
 me. She evidently considered that I was unable to 
 do any thing to support myself. If she had known
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 287 
 
 me better, she might have been assured that I would 
 never eat her bread in idleness. I hoped, however, 
 to convince her that she was mistaken, and that the 
 education which my dear father had bestowed upon 
 me was not in vain, but would be blest by God to 
 provide for me. A burden upon my friends I was 
 resolved not to be, if I should even have to earn my 
 bread by whiteseam. It was a painful thing to have 
 my mind distracted by such cares on the very day on 
 which my father was laid in his grave. 
 
 " Come away, Rose," said my aunt, with a some- 
 what more gracious manner than before, as if her 
 mind was relieved, when I again entered the room ; 
 u I think we have arranged what seems best in the 
 meantime ; at least that is our opinion (there was an 
 emphasis on the our), but you shall hear it." I sat 
 down and looked anxiously for information. 
 
 " You see, my dear, it would never do that plan of 
 yours to seek for a situation with so few accomplish- 
 ments as you have ; no lady would look at you. But 
 there 's little Matthew, the boy is ten years old, and 
 we were just thinking of sending him to the Latin. 
 Now, if you think you are really fit for such a thing 
 (its just trying if you arn't, and a few months is not 
 of much consequence any way), you might teach him, 
 and that would be some expense at least saved ; and 
 that will give us leisure to look about us, and to let 
 you improve yourself a bit. With the little that my 
 brother may have left, you might be able to pay for 
 lessons, and get on so as to be afterwards fit for a
 
 288 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 situation. I am sure you would be welcome to prac- 
 tise on our piano. And there are many ways, too, in 
 which you could be useful to your cousins and me, 
 which would so far pay for your board. Well, what 
 do you say to it?" 
 
 I drew a deep breath, and endeavoured to gulp 
 down my rising pride. I could not tell what to an- 
 swer — I felt bewildered. I saw my aunt expected an 
 immediate answer, and what was more, a grateful one. 
 The proposal was not what I expected — it was worse, 
 and yet better, though that appears a contradiction. 
 It was relieving me (if I did not succeed in obtaining 
 a situation), from entire dependence; yet I felt at a 
 great cost. My pride, too, was hurt by my aunt's 
 derogatory manner. I could not make her under- 
 stand my feelings, nor did I attempt it. My poor 
 head seemed to turn round under the pressure of my 
 difficulties, and I put my hand to my forehead. 
 
 " Are you ill?" said my aunt. 
 
 I smiled faintly, and took away my hand. " Oh 
 no," I answered ; " but I have been so little accus- 
 tomed to decide for myself — I have so little expe- 
 rience." 
 
 " Then you should trust to those who have," said 
 my aunt, with just as much asperity as she could bear 
 to show to one circumstanced as I was. 
 
 I sighed. " I suppose I had better leave it in your 
 hands, aunt Dalgleish," I said, sending back with a 
 strong effort the tears which rose to my eyes. I shall 
 do all I can to fit myself soon for a situation. I can-
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 289 
 
 not stay here, I know ; and, as you say (pride would 
 show itself), my services to you will help to defray 
 my board in the interval." 
 
 " Well, it is all fixed then," said my aunt compo- 
 sedly, " and we must just arrange now how you are 
 to come to us when you leave this, which, I sup- 
 pose, you had better do in a few weeks. But, to be 
 sure, we can write about that. I am glad we are 
 come to some kind of arrangement at last. And as to 
 business matters, leave all that to Mr Dalgleish, my 
 dear, — he knows about such things. I wonder what 
 your cousins will say when they hear of it, and what 
 room I shall have to put you in to sleep?" She 
 rubbed her nose, as if that was a point she would find 
 some difficulty in settling, but at last gave it up for the 
 present, and turning to her spouse, who had been 
 listening all the time, without attempting to speak,— 
 " What are you thinking about, Mr Dalgleish?" she 
 exclaimed : . " as you are doing nothing else, I think, 
 you might at least stir the fire." Which duty he 
 instantly and most submissively performed. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 290 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 There is no one of all thy race within these chambers dim : 
 Thy father slumbers in his tomb — and it is well for him ; 
 Go bend thy hnee to God in prayer ; for nought remains to thee 
 But the grey walls, the ancient halls, which thou of old didst see. 
 
 We were all up and stirring at an early hour next 
 morning ; for the chaise which was to convey my re- 
 lations back to their home was expected soon after 
 breakfast. Mr Dalgleish intended to stop for a short 
 time at Lanark, while he made arrangements with Mr 
 Grainger, the writer, about the sale which must ne- 
 cessarily take place at the manse. The furniture, as 
 well as the implements for farming the glebe, and the 
 stock, were all to be sold. Mr Dalgleish was of opi- 
 nion that this should take place as soon as possible. 
 I listened to those details with a sinking heart, but 
 tried to re-animate my spirits, that I might not ap- 
 pear either ungrateful or foolishly sensitive. 
 
 They both seemed inspirited by the prospect of de- 
 parture from what must have been, at least to Mr
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 291 
 
 Dalgleish, a very dull sojourn. He was a newsman 
 this morning, and, utterly unable to conceal his gra- 
 tification at being soon able to exchange the melan- 
 choly dreariness of the country at this time of year, 
 for the warmth, and cheerfulness, and bustle of town. 
 He could not rest quiet all morning, but went con- 
 stantly in and out, jingling the coin in his breeches 
 pockets, and occasionally whistling, in outrage of all 
 decorum, so as to be heard even in the kitchen, where 
 it consequently excited great indignation, scarcely 
 mollified afterwards by the present of half-a-crown to 
 each servant. 
 
 I must do Mr Dalgleish the justice, however, to 
 say, that he felt kindly disposed towards me, in spite 
 of the thoughtlessness of his manners. My aunt had 
 gone up to her room, after breakfast, to get her things 
 in readiness, declining my assistance, which I prof- 
 fered. Mr Dalgleish was planted in his favourite 
 place before the fire ; but instead of his hands being 
 as usual employed in tucking his broad-skirted coat 
 around him, they were buried deep in his pockets, and 
 the expression of his face showed he was in search of 
 something. I so little imagined what he was about, 
 that I was greatly surprised when he suddenly crossed 
 the room to where I sat, with what turned out to be 
 a bank-note extended in his hand. 
 
 u Here, my dear," he said ; u you must have been 
 at a good deal of expense just now with one thing and 
 another. Put that into your pocket, and say nae- 
 thing aboot it to ony body. But take care you dinna
 
 292 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 lose it — mind it 's a ten-pound note. — What! " he said, 
 as I involuntarily drew back, as he was forcing it into 
 my hand, " ye winna take it ! — Weel, ye 're the first 
 that I ever ken't refuse siller. Take another thought 
 o' 't yet — ye may fin' the want o' 't." 
 
 I recovered from my surprise by the time he was 
 done speaking ; and as he still continued to hold out 
 the note for my acceptance, I thanked him warmly, 
 which he well deserved for his consideration, but 
 persisted in declining his gift. " I am very much 
 obliged to you, Mr Dalgleish," I said, — " very much 
 obliged indeed; but there is no occasion for your 
 kindness. Since my father's illness (here my voice 
 would tremble, but somehow I did not mind exposing 
 my feelings so much before him as before my aunt), 
 I have taken care of all his money, and, with good 
 management, I am certain I shall have enough to 
 pay the servants' wages, and all other expenses, till I 
 leave Auchtermuir, — besides paying," I hastily added, 
 " my travelling expenses to Glasgow." 
 
 " Weel, if that 's the case," said Mr Dalgleish, 
 coolly putting back the note into his pocket, " no 
 more need be said. I am glad you have so much 
 money ; and of course there will be the arrears of the 
 stipend coming in, and the proceeds of the sale. Why, 
 there may be mair than what we think, and it will be 
 a nest-egg for you. We '11 lay it by, though your 
 aunt talks o' spending it in learning accomplishments. 
 There 's naething like the money itsel', — far better 
 than drumming and skirling at a piano — it deafens
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 293 
 
 my head sometimes, though ye mamma tell that to 
 your aunty. Sae cheer up, my dear," and he took 
 my hand and shook it cordially. I returned the shake 
 as he had given it. I felt cheered by his kindness, 
 homely as it was. He then put his hands in his poc- 
 kets again, and walked away to look, for the tenth 
 time, if the chaise was not yet coming down the road. 
 
 My aunt's satisfaction at the prospect of departure, 
 though not so openly exhibited as her husband's, was 
 still very apparent. Her countenance was indeed 
 composed into a becoming and decent gravity befit- 
 ting a house of mourning, but she was more active 
 and cheerful than she had been since her arrival. 
 
 Mr Dalgleish came hurrying into the house at last, 
 to say that he saw the chaise turning the corner, and 
 that we might expect it immediately. He called to 
 his wife to get ready, and Nanny and Peggy were 
 summoned to carry down the luggage. The chaise 
 drew up to the door. There was again a great bustle ; 
 and Mr Dalgleish would help the driver to pack in all 
 the things, and ran backwards and forwards, looking 
 for missing umbrellas and imaginary parcels, in a 
 great fidget, till my aunt appeared attired for her jour- 
 ney, and her presence reduced all things to order. 
 She directed him to where he himself had placed the 
 umbrella the previous day — and there it was to be 
 sure in the nook behind the door — and corrected all 
 his errors about the packages by counting them over 
 to him, and convincing him (which was not difficult 
 to do) that he was in a mistake.
 
 294 KOSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 Then came the leave-taking, and my aunt accom- 
 plished it with good grace. She apologized for leav- 
 ing me solitary in my distress, but had no alternative, 
 she said. Observing that I looked pale and worn-out, 
 she advised me to lie down for a little after they were 
 gone. 
 
 " I shall write to you soon," she said, as she moved 
 to the chaise, " or I will make one of your cousins do 
 it, and will then arrange all the way of your coming 
 to us. A few weeks will soon pass over, and you 
 must just try to be as cheerful as possible till then. 
 I suppose you have enough of money (she did not 
 offer it like her husband) . Very well ; we will write 
 and fix everything else. Good bye, my dear." She 
 kissed me, nodded to the servants, and stepped into 
 the chaise. 
 
 " Good bye, good bye!" said Mr Dalgleish, shak- 
 ing hands with me, after he had concluded the ar- 
 rangement of a voluminous frieze cloak which com- 
 pletely enveloped his jolly person, and pulled his hat 
 low down over his ears. " Cold place this. Glad to 
 see you in Glasgow, my dear;" and the machine 
 groaned and creaked under his weight as he fol- 
 lowed his wife hastily into it. 
 
 The driver closed the door, and Mr Dalgleish drew 
 up the nearest window, but immediately lowered it 
 again to utter another " good bye," accompanied by 
 a series of beaming nods. I saw my aunt bend for- 
 ward, and a shade passed over her face as she cast a 
 last look into the house. She again bade me farewell
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 295 
 
 and smiled : the chaise moved off, and I was left stand- 
 ing alone on the threshold of my desolate home. 
 
 When the chaise was lost to sight, for till then I 
 stood and looked after it, I withdrew sadly into the 
 house. It was now quiet enough, and I would even 
 have preferred the loud tones and busy fussiness of 
 Mr Dalgleish to the dreary emptiness and silence of 
 the rooms. A chilling sensation crept over me, — a 
 sense of friendlessness and of being alone in the world. 
 I had nothing to occupy my mind, and keep it from 
 brooding over past happiness, as had been the case 
 during the last week, when the arrangements for the 
 funeral, and the residence of my relations under the 
 roof, necessarily engrossed some of my attention. All 
 such cares were over, and I was commencing a new 
 life companionless. I could not yet return to my old 
 employments, for they had been long broken up by 
 my attendance upon my father, and I had not the 
 heart to resume them now. How could I, when every 
 one of them was associated with him ! I could not 
 sit down in my old place with my work or my book 
 while his chair was empty, and I knew he could never 
 return again to fill it. I went up stairs and into his 
 room, which was all formally arranged, and leaning 
 my arms and aching head on the little cupboard, I 
 looked out upon his grave. I felt that it was a link 
 between us still, and that as long as I could have it 
 in view, we were not entirely separated. 
 
 Now that I was left solitary, and all necessity for 
 exertion gone, I grew desponding and distrustful. Iffy
 
 296 RUSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 heart began to question, — Why am I thus singled out 
 to be miserable when all others seem prosperous and 
 happy ? I had but one ewe-lamb, and it is taken from 
 me, — it were better for me to die than to live ! I 
 grew doubtful of the wisdom of Providence. I lost 
 my sight of the hand which had supported me dur- 
 ing my late trials, and I felt as if God had forgot- 
 ten me, and that I was forsaken by both God and 
 man. 
 
 I had been too tenderly nurtured, indeed, as my dear 
 father had said. I wanted hardening to face the ills 
 of life, which already began to overwhelm me. I 
 could see no termination to the difficulties before me, 
 and I wanted courage to grapple with them. If I 
 had applied for help to Him who alone can bestow it, 
 it would have been afforded me, but I was struggling 
 now with unbelief, and could not take hold on His 
 promises. 
 
 But He was caring for me though I knew it not. 
 He sent me comfort and counsel this forenoon while 
 I most wanted it, in the person of dear Miss Menie 
 Weir. As she did not find me in the parlour when 
 she entered, and Nanny hinted that she thought I had 
 shut myself up in my father's room, she ventured to 
 seek me there. I heard the door gently open, and 
 when I looked round and saw Miss Menie, with her 
 kind eyes filled with tears, I felt I was not forsaken. 
 She came in and sat down by me, and drew me like 
 a child (I was only eighteen) to her bosom. With 
 her usual penetration she easily discovered the state
 
 RUSE DOUGLAS. 297 
 
 of my mind ; and applying herself to the task of bring- 
 ing me to a calmer and more trustful view of the na- 
 ture of my trials, she did not leave me till she saw 
 that the bitterness of my feelings had given way, and 
 that I had attained a healthier state of mind. 
 
 When Miss Menie left me, which was not for two 
 hours, I accompanied her a short way on her return 
 home, and when we parted, the influence of her counsels 
 still remained with me. She would' again have per- 
 suaded me to leave the manse, and come for the few 
 weeks I could remain here to Burnside ; but she saw so 
 plainly that I clung to my old home, and would not 
 be prevailed upon, that she finally dropped the subject. 
 We parted a little beyond the Craiglands gate, 
 and I lingered on the road looking after her as long 
 as I could see her tall slim figure, wrapt in the never 
 varying dark blue cloak she wore in her walks. I 
 then returned slowly home, strengthened and invigo- 
 rated by the sound and pious advice she had given 
 me. She had impressed upon me the balance of good 
 and evil in man's life, and her language was, u What, 
 shall we receive good at the hand of the Lord, and 
 shall we not also receive evil? " While urging upon 
 me the overruling hand of God in all that is allowed 
 to happen to us, she taught me that, if a believer, all 
 things, however dark and unpromising in the hour of 
 trial, would work together for my ultimate good, and 
 that trusting him in affliction was not only my duty 
 but my privilege. 
 
 " A word in season, how good it is ! " I felt it so ;
 
 298 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 and as I returned homewards along the quiet road, 1 
 was very different from the murmuring despondent 
 being I had been two hours before. 
 
 I was very near home when I heard the sound of 
 a horse's feet behind me, advancing at a leisurely 
 trot, and looking back I saw it was Mr Patterson, 
 who was come to visit me according to his pro- 
 mise. He walked his horse by my side to the gate, 
 and after leading it to the stable, as John was not in 
 the way, he joined me in the parlour. He was a very 
 old friend of ours — pious, cheerful, and sincere. My 
 father and he had been like brothers, and as their 
 parishes were contiguous, Mr Patterson was often 
 with us. He was unmarried, and our warm genial 
 fireside possessed attractions which his own had not. 
 From seeing me constantly, and sharing in my plays 
 when I was a child, he almost regarded me as his 
 own, and would have made any sacrifice, I believe, 
 for my father and myself. My father's death was a 
 severe blow to him, more especially as it was unex- 
 pected, he having been from home when it occurred. 
 Owing to my own illness I had not seen him when he 
 called at the house previous to the funeral, nor yes- 
 terday, so that our present meeting was at first a 
 very agitating one, for both our minds were full of all 
 that had happened since we last met. When the first 
 burst of emotion was over, and we had sat down, he 
 in my father's chair, and I beside him, I entered into 
 a description of all that was likely to interest him 
 connected with my father's last moments, and then
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 299 
 
 ended by detailing my own plans for the future. He 
 was not a person to consult, having little worldy wis- 
 dom, and great simplicity and guilelessness of char- 
 acter, but his interest in me, I felt, merited my con- 
 fidence. He listened earnestly to all I told him, but 
 when I mentioned that it had been decided that I 
 must shortly leave Auchtermuir, and take up my 
 future residence in Glasgow, an expression of sorrow 
 and anxiety came over his furrowed face. 
 
 " That 's a great distance, my dear," he said, mourn- 
 fully shaking his head, — " a very great distance ; 
 Glasgow's too far away. Why not come to your 
 father's old friend ? I have not long to live, but my 
 home would be yours till then." 
 
 I did not answer him for a few moments, for I was 
 taken by surprise, such a project, of course, having 
 never occurred to me. I at first felt as if it might be 
 indulged, and a throb of joy shot through my heart ; 
 but a moment's reflection convinced me of its impos- 
 sibility. There was no one, however, to whom I 
 would have more willingly incurred obligation than to 
 my old friend Mr Patterson. The obligation would 
 have been mutual. I would have made his fireside 
 cheerful, and in his declining years have nursed and 
 cared for him. I had often felt sorry when I thought 
 of his loneliness. It would have been almost like 
 being restored to my own father again. But it could 
 not be, though I sighed as I put the vision from me. 
 Mr Patterson had a set of needy unprincipled rela- 
 tions, and I knew that he stinted himself to assist
 
 300 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 them. My maintenance must not be made an addi- 
 tional burden to him. 
 
 " No, no, dear Mr Patterson," I said, " that will 
 not do. It is not," I continued hastily, seeing him 
 look disappointed, " because I should not like such a 
 plan, or that I would be unwilling to incur obligation 
 to you. On the contrary, it would make me too 
 happy ; but there are too many obstacles in the 
 way." 
 
 He was silent for a few moments, and still looked 
 grieved. " Do you think," he said at last, " that 
 your aunt would be displeased? I am sure that 
 though no relation, I am an older friend than she is." 
 
 " I do not know whether she would," I said, " but 
 it is not likely that she would be satisfied, as the 
 plan is her own. My aunt, you know, made the 
 arrangement (a certain delicacy kept me from allud- 
 ing to the true motive which made me decline his 
 proposal). Let us not think any more of it, dear 
 uncle Patty (the pet name which I called him in 
 childhood, and still continued from habit), it will 
 only make me sad to think of what cannot be." 
 
 " Well, my dear, if you think so," he said acqui- 
 escingly, yet with reluctance, " my only wish is for 
 your good. But what will the poor old man do with- 
 out you, Rose?" 
 
 " You must come and see me," I said, endeavour- 
 ing to speak more cheerfully than I felt. " You must 
 come in summer and tell me all the news about dear 
 Auchtermuir." But I had to turn away my head
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 301 
 
 hastily from him to hide a burst of tears. He looked 
 very desponding. But I tried to rouse him from this 
 state of mind, and talked to him till his spirits some- 
 what revived. 
 
 He sat with me for about an hour, and then left me 
 rather hurriedly, afraid, I think, as the dinner-hour 
 was approaching, that I might ask him to remain. 
 Every morsel he swallowed at the orphan's expense, 
 I knew, would have pained his sensitive conscience 
 for days. I entreated him to take some refreshment 
 after his ride, and almost smiled at the excuses he 
 made to avoid it — no appetite, and a late breakfast — 
 while I, who knew all his habits, which were as un- 
 varying as clockwork, was quite aware that his morn- 
 ing meal was an early one. But though sorry that he 
 should leave me thus, I could not allow him to see 
 that I suspected the true meaning of his declining 
 what he never formerly refused. His horse was 
 brought to the door, as he requested, and he went 
 away, promising to see me soon again. 
 
 For the few following days I was little left to my- 
 self, for all the families around made a point of calling 
 for me. Even the honest farmers' wives, whom we 
 used to visit, dropped in to express their sympathy. 
 When they heard that I meant so soon to leave the 
 parish, they were all grieved. " Eh wow!" they 
 said, " couldna ye just bide still at Auchtermuir?" 
 
 Two days after Mr and Mrs Dalgleish left me, I 
 had a call from Mr Grainger, the writer in Lanark. 
 This was to arrange for the *ale ; and he was ac-
 
 302 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 companied by a clerk who took an inventory of every 
 thing. I showed them through the rooms, and though 
 this was the first step towards my own banishment, 
 and I felt it deeply as the herald of what was to come, 
 still Miss Menie Weir's advice was not forgotten, and 
 I got through it wonderfully. But I began to feel 
 that time was flying, and that every hour was bring- 
 ing me nearer to the day when I must go for ever. 
 
 Mr Grainger was very civil and polite. I knew 
 him only by sight ; but he showed sympathy for my 
 late bereavement, and seemed anxious to make what 
 arrangements would best suit me. " Mr Dalgleish 
 wished the sale to take place as early as three weeks," 
 he said, — " would that suit my plans ? It would be 
 unadvisable to put off a country sale later in the 
 year, but still, if I did not find it convenient to leave 
 Auchtermuir so soon, it could be postponed." 
 
 I said with a sigh, that I thought it proper to agree 
 to the arrangement that Mr Dalgleish and he thought 
 best, and that therefore I would be ready to leave imme- 
 diately after the term, especially as I could not retain 
 a servant beyond that period ; they were of course all 
 dismissed. I took the liberty of recommending John 
 to Mr Grainger's notice as a servant who had long- 
 been with us and was eminently trust-worthy, and 
 ventured to suggest, that perhaps a word from him 
 as Sir Robert Crawford's agent might have the effect 
 of inducing my father's successor to retain his services. 
 He promised to keep him in remembrance ; and I felt 
 relieved of a care which had been weighing heavily
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 303 
 
 upon my spirits. The two girls, I had no doubt, 
 would procure situations through Mrs Johnstone's 
 influence. 
 
 In going through the rooms, I pointed out several 
 articles to Mr Grainger which I did not wish inserted 
 in the inventory. Among them were my father's 
 large chair, the old - fashioned cabinet, which had 
 drawn the attention of Mr Dalgleish, the screen 
 which was worked by my mother, and some of my 
 father's books. The pieces of furniture I meant to 
 present to my old friend Mrs Johnstone, and the 
 books were for Mr Patterson, who, I knew, would 
 value them exceedingly. 
 
 The servants did not see the proceedings of the 
 writer and his clerk without being overwhelmed with 
 distress. They bewailed the necessity of parting from 
 me ; nor would they be persuaded to seek for situa- 
 tions, till I had remonstrated with them, and they 
 were persuaded that it was impossible for me to re- 
 main at Auchtermuir. John was most to be pitied. 
 He had grown old in the service of his master ; and 
 though still hale and active, it was not easy for him 
 to obtain another situation, or to commence a new 
 servitude. He had saved a little money, but not 
 enough to support him long. Besides, it was no light 
 thing to change the habits of years. The glebe and 
 garden were as much a part of himself as the garments 
 he wore, or the food he ate. His own cot too, where 
 he had lived for thirty years, how was he to leave it ? 
 I thought the old man's heart would have broken.
 
 304 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 But it was not a mere selfish feeling with him. I 
 knew that he truly mourned for his kind master, and 
 that my approaching departure weighed hard upon his 
 spirits. But he had become very taciturn, and it was 
 difficult to discover what were his feelings, though I 
 could read them in his sunken cheek and trembling 
 hand — poor old man ! 
 
 Day after day passed quickly on, and often my heart 
 would begin to fail me as I thought how fast the mo- 
 ments were flying. Already preparations were being- 
 made for my departure and for the sale, and the house 
 began to assume a stripped and dismantled look. I 
 was little within, for I had a painful duty to undergo, 
 which took me much from home — the bidding fare- 
 well to all my old friends. It was almost like going 
 from house to house, and the fatigue of it was only 
 equalled by the anguish. I knew it was expected 
 from me, or I would not have undertaken it. In some 
 houses where I was best known, the people would not 
 at first believe that I came to bid them farewell, and 
 I had the heart-breaking necessity of convincing them 
 of it, and of listening to their lamentations on the sad 
 change my father's death had brought upon us. 
 
 It was a weary task ; and my heart was constantly 
 wrung by scenes Avhich took place. Those who had 
 received spiritual benefit from my father's ministry 
 were especially distressed. Indeed the parish, during 
 one week, might truly have been called " Bochim," a 
 place of weeping, for there were more tears shed then 
 than I had ever seen before, or have since. There
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 305 
 
 were some old women, helpless creatures, who had 
 received a small weekly pension from me. When I 
 took it to them for the last time, and informed them 
 that I was going away, and they would not see me 
 again, they could not at first comprehend it, and then 
 refused to be comforted. They rocked themselves 
 backwards and forwards in their wicker chairs, as 
 they indulged their grief, and I sat and cried in com- 
 pany. " What wull we do ? what wull we do ?" they 
 exclaimed, " the minister 's awa, and ye 're gaun awa, 
 — wha wull look to us noo ? Oh hone ! oh hone !" 
 
 I told them that Miss Menie Weir had promised to 
 do so ; but all they would say was, " Ay, ay — she's 
 a gude leddy — but eh wow! if ye would but stay 
 yoursel'." Poor things, necessity had made them 
 selfish, and they feared they might be neglected now. 
 
 I tore myself away from them in the end, their 
 lamentations still ringing in my ears, and utterly un- 
 able to convince them that there was a necessity for 
 my going. I had nothing for it but to leave them, 
 after bestowing double my usual allowance upon them. 
 But one scene I must describe. 
 
 There was a poor old woman, a widow, and child- 
 less, who lived in a little cottage by herself. She 
 was very poor; but she had been decently brought 
 up, and she laboured hard to avoid the disgrace of 
 seeking aid from the parish funds. My dear father, 
 who had much penetration, had long had his eye upon 
 her, and esteemed her character. She did not refuse 
 to accept a little assistance from us; and many a time 
 VOL. 1. r
 
 306 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 when I took it to her, I have sat for an hour delighted 
 with her conversation. She was a woman of a meek 
 and lowly spirit, one who had experienced many trials, 
 and been exercised by them. She had seen better 
 days ; and her little dark dwelling was arranged with 
 much more attention to cleanliness and order than the 
 most we were familiar with ; and yet she was often 
 almost crippled with rheumatism. 
 
 When I called to bid Widow Wilson farewell, she 
 told me that she had heard I was going, and was glad 
 to see me once more before I went away. The tears 
 began to trickle over her cheeks, as she spoke of the 
 kindness of him we had lost ; and she hoped, she said, 
 that the Lord would repay to me what we both had 
 done for her. " I have never been without friends," 
 she continued, " in my darkest hour : the Lord has 
 always raised up some one to help me ; and dinna let 
 it weigh upon your heart, as I ken it will, that the 
 auld widow will be unprovided for. When I first 
 heard you were going, my faith nearly failed me ; but, 
 blessed be the Lord ! he has enabled me to cast mysel' 
 upon him, and he will provide my daily bread — 
 though I dinna ken where it 's to come frae, for my 
 sight 's failing, and I canna spin as I used to do." 
 She was spinning as she spoke. 
 
 I presented her with a small sum I had brought 
 for her, but her unselfish spirit was most unwilling to 
 take it. " It would be robbing the orphan," she said, 
 " and she was in no immediate need." I however 
 succeeded in forcing it upon her.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 307 
 
 When I rose to take my leave, she asked me to wait 
 for a moment. She had a fine canary bird. How she 
 had procured it I know not, but she had had it for 
 two years, and its lively notes were the only earthly 
 solace the poor widow had. She was very proud and 
 fond of her bird ; and though often scrimped herself, 
 would never suffer it to want, though she spent her 
 last halfpenny in purchasing seed for it. Its wicker 
 cage was hung in her little window, just over the 
 seat where the widow sat at her wheel, so that she 
 could observe it by merely raising her eyes. It was 
 always decked with fresh greens, which she got the 
 neighbours' children to gather for her, for all the 
 children about loved her, and liked to visit her cottage. 
 Her affection for her bird had become almost a pro- 
 verb in the place. 
 
 Knowing this, what were my feelings when the 
 poor old woman, lifting down the cage, presented the 
 bird to me as the only thing of value in her possession ? 
 She did it with an evident anxiety that I should think 
 it worth my acceptance, not as if she regretted what 
 she offered : the feeling of gratitude in her mind was 
 stronger than her love for her bird. Of course I re- 
 fused to accept of it, but she evidently supposed that it 
 was from unwillingness to deprive her of what I knew 
 she valued, and she continued to press it upon me 
 with simple earnestness. " One of her neighbour's 
 bairns," she said, wee " Willy Howieson, would 
 carry it over for me to the manse." 
 
 I was moved to tears by this instance of affection.
 
 308 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 I told her, however, that I was going to my aunt's 
 house, and could not venture to take such a thing 
 with me, in case she might not like it, thanking her 
 warmly at the same time for her proffered gift. When 
 she heard this, she put down the cage on the table, 
 and was silent for a moment or two. 
 
 " I hope you are gaun to kind freends," she said 
 at length ; u but that someway disna look like it. — 
 Excuse the liberty. But if ye '11 no take my bird, 
 ye maun take my blessing." And she gave me it. 
 
 I was more sorry to part with Widow Wilson 
 than with almost anybody. I remember her looking 
 after me wistfully, as she stood in her doorway, till I 
 turned the corner of the road ; and I thought sadly 
 that I would probably never see her again, — nor did I. 
 
 I was in constant expectation of hearing from my 
 aunt, and could make no final arrangements for my 
 removal till then. As day after day passed over 
 without a letter, each one found me momentarily re- 
 lieved by its non-arrival. We had no other way of 
 getting our letters but by sending for them to Lanark, 
 a distance of some miles, unless an opportunity occur- 
 red, such as a neighbour going there on business, who 
 of course always called at the post-office, and brought 
 what parish letters were there with him ; but some- 
 times such an opportunity might not occur for days. 
 I was too anxious now, however, to wait for such 
 chances, and too fearful of giving offence, by allowing 
 any unnecessary delay to take place in acknowledging 
 the receipt of the expected letter. There was a poor
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 309 
 
 silly lad in the place, who was occasionally employed 
 by the neighbours to go messages, which he had quite 
 wit enough to execute. He delighted especially in 
 going to Lanark, and would often journey there to 
 please himself in looking at the shop windows. No- 
 thing gratified him more than to be intrusted with 
 an errand, and he never would part with an article till 
 he had delivered it into the hands of the real owner. 
 His fidelity had often been experimented upon, but 
 had always stood the test. The postmaster and 
 every shopkeeper in Lanark were well acquainted 
 with " daft Tarn," as he was called, and never hesi- 
 tated to trust him. So I chose him for my messenger ; 
 and Tarn, for his meals and a few pence to buy 
 " sneeshin," of which he was exceedingly fond, 
 trudged every morning into Lanark to inquire for a 
 letter. 
 
 At last it came. It was written by my aunt her- 
 self, and had evidently been composed by snatches, 
 for it was dated several days back. After giving me 
 a short account of their journey, and of a bad cold 
 which she had caught in consequence, she went on to 
 say, that neither Mr Dalgleish nor she could agree in 
 what manner I was to travel to them. A chaise was 
 a very expensive thing (as they well knew), and they 
 had waited so short a time in Hamilton on their way 
 home, that they had not had leisure to make inquiries 
 about any other means of conveyance. She had 
 learned, however, from a Hamilton lady, who was on 
 a visit to some friends in Glasgow, that there was a
 
 310 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 decent caravan which left Hamilton every morning, 
 and which most respectable people travelled in. She 
 wished I would make inquiries about it, as it might 
 save so much expense. The hour was an inconve- 
 nient one, but there might be some way found of my 
 getting down there from Lanark the previous after- 
 noon. The caravan belonged to a John Eglinton, 
 she was told, who was a married man, and kept an 
 inn, which she heard was a very respectable place. I 
 might perhaps stay there all night ; at all events, I 
 could inquire about it, and then write to her. 
 
 She ended by assuring me they would be all glad 
 to see me, and that she hoped I would bring as little 
 luggage as possible. There was a postscript to the 
 letter, in which she informed me that Mr Dalgleish 
 had heard from Mr Grainger, who said all things 
 were in progress for the sale. Mr Grainger had also 
 mentioned that he had had a letter from Sir Kobert 
 Crawford about a presentation to the parish. And 
 this closed the letter.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 I HAD not yet bade the doctor and his wife good-bye. 
 It occurred to me, after reading my aunt's letter, that 
 from her connexion with Glasgow, Mrs M'Whirter 
 was a likely person to be able to furnish me with the 
 information I needed. As I received the letter in the 
 forenoon, I had time to call for her that very day. 
 The doctor was not at home — gone on one of his long 
 rounds — so that I had no chance of seeing him. Mrs 
 M' Whirter's manners never possessed much warmth ; 
 so, when informed it was a parting visit, she just 
 showed enough of feeling to be decent, and no more. 
 She, however, manifested some curiosity when I told 
 her that I intended going to Glasgow, and said she 
 knew well about all the Dalgleishes, though she had 
 never met with my aunt. I was in no mood for gos- 
 sipping, and testified no curiosity as to the extent and 
 sources of her knowledge, but allowed the subject to 
 drop. I then introduced the matter of my aunt's 
 letter, and here I found, as I expected, that she could 
 help me. 
 
 u Ken John Eglinton? " she said in answer to my 
 question, " Yes, yes. I ken John. He and his wife
 
 312 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 are decent folk enough, though she wears white gowns 
 summer and winter, as if she were a play-actor. She 
 maun be at a bonny charge for soap. Their caravan 
 — ay — it leaves Hamilton every morning. I have 
 often travelled by it — it 's a great convenience to the 
 town's folk." 
 
 I next anxiously inquired about the inn, and her 
 answer was quite as satisfactory. " It was a very 
 decent house," she said: "no sae grand as Currie's 
 inn, to be sure, and no muckle better than a public ; 
 but I would find it clean and comfortable." Every- 
 thing or place that Mrs M'Whirter allowed to be 
 clean must be so, I knew, in a superlative degree. I 
 thought I had obtained all that I wanted to know, 
 and might safely write to my aunt confirming what 
 she had heard. I soon rose to go, for I knew that 
 Mrs M'Whirter disliked visiters who sat long, as they 
 interfered with her looking after her household con- 
 cerns. But I was agreeably surprised when she 
 offered — offered frankly — if I meant to stop a night 
 in Hamilton on my way (and it was the cheapest 
 plan, she said) , to drop a line to Mrs Eglinton, whom 
 she had often seen, to request her to keep a bed and a 
 seat for me in the caravan the following morning, if I 
 could but fix on what day I should travel. 
 
 I thanked her most gratefully, and, after pausing 
 to reflect for a moment, I said I would certainly leave 
 home on the day before the term. 
 
 " In that case," rejoined Mrs M'Whirter, " it will 
 be perfectly necessary to write, for there will be sae
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 313 
 
 mony servant queans gaun hame to their places in the 
 toun on the term-morning, that otherwise ye wad run 
 a risk o' losing a seat. But how d' ye travel to 
 Hamilton?" 
 
 I said I had not thought about that yet. 
 
 " But ye should think aboot it/' replied Mrs 
 M'Whirter ; " ye should never pit aff onything — aye 
 be forward wi' your wark, and ye '11 never be over- 
 ta'en — that 's a gude rule for a lassie like you. Mind 
 it 's but aught days to the term. But what 's to hinder 
 ye to tak' John and the cart ? There 's time enough," 
 she continued, observing that I hesitated, " for him to 
 tak' you to Hamilton, if you set aff early, and to be 
 back again by night. It 's but forty miles there and 
 back, and the horse would have a lang rest." 
 
 " So he could," I said ; " and I think it will be a 
 good plan. I only feel to take an old man, like John, 
 so long a journey." 
 
 " Hout fye!" she exclaimed, "the body's stieve 
 enough : besides, he 's no sae auld (Mrs M'Whirter, 
 as she grew in years herself, never liked people to be 
 called old) . He hasna seen abune saxty, and he '11 
 last to fourscore, if he disna destroy himsel' wi' refus- 
 ing to tak' physic. Folk need medicine to clear the 
 system, as the doctor says. I hear John 's to stay 
 still, and take care o' the manse till the new minister 
 comes. I wonder wha we will get. I hear the folk 
 are talking aboot it already ; but they dinna ken whe- 
 ther Sir Robert will just present, or allow candidates 
 to staund. Dear me, ye 're in a hurry surely. And
 
 314 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 sae ye 're gaun awa. Weel, fare ye weel, — if ever 
 ye 're in this pairt o' the country again, I houp we '11 
 see ye. The doctor 's gaun to ride in to Lanrick the 
 morn, and I '11 gie him the line for the post. Ye 
 haena money aboot ye, hae ye, to pay for it?" 
 
 I had fortunately, and gave Mrs M'Whirter the re- 
 quisite sum to pay the postage, so that Mrs Eglinton 
 would receive the letter free. I then bade her fare- 
 well, and the green door shut upon me. The little 
 trim domicile was so familiar to me, that I glanced 
 around, before I walked away, with something of 
 a painful feeling. I could scarcely grieve to lose Mrs 
 M'Whirter's society, for she was neither lovable in 
 herself, nor was I in the habit of seeing her often ; 
 but that attraction which binds us to well known ob- 
 jects had some influence even as regarded her. I felt 
 saddened, at least, as the gate closed behind me. 
 
 I meant to drink tea with the Burnside family to- 
 night. The ladies had called at the manse the pre- 
 vious day, and invited me so pressingly to come, that 
 I had promised at length. It was late in the after- 
 noon when I called at the doctor's, so I went direct to 
 Burnside when I left Mrs M'Whirter. As I came in 
 sight of the old venerable house, standing so quietly 
 in its green paddock, sprinkled with the large trees 
 which the season had strip t bare, I felt how much 
 more painful it would be to bid farewell to its kind 
 mistresses. They saw me from the window as I walked 
 up the avenue, and two of them came to the door to 
 welcome me, and to lead me, after I was denuded of
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 315 
 
 my bonnet and cloak, into the bright cosy sitting-room. 
 The good ladies could not make enough of me. They 
 placed me by the fire on the couch, and one brought 
 me a footstool, and another a screen. Miss Menie sat 
 opposite, with her kind sensible face lighted up, I 
 knew, with the pleasure of seeing me, and the others, 
 when they could do no more for me, drew their chairs 
 near the fire and made a circle. 
 
 It was always so comfortable at Burnside, — you 
 never met with such soft seats, such a bright fireside, 
 or so kindly a welcome, anywhere else. No wonder 
 that the Misses Weir were so popular, and that every 
 one liked to visit them. This evening, as I looked 
 round me, I felt what a contrast the room was to my 
 melancholy home. It had once been cheerful too. 
 But who that saw it then could have known it 
 
 now t 
 
 I had arrived some time before their tea-hour ; but 
 tea was .hurried on account of my walk. As the even- 
 ing was closing, the lesser Jenny came in to close the 
 shutters and bring candles. She drew the crimson 
 curtains around the windows, and made the room 
 snug. But the candles and the fire which blazed 
 brightly in the old-fashioned polished grate, though 
 cheering substitutes for the grey evening light, could 
 not raise my drooping spirits, for I felt painfully that 
 this was probably the last time that I should be here. 
 Miss Menie, no doubt, guessed what was passing in 
 my mind, for she could read my countenance ; and 
 she adroitly managed that her sisters should not annoy
 
 316 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 me with many inquiries about my arrangements, as 
 they seemed inclined to do. 
 
 Tea was soon got ready, and I found myself again 
 seated at the large round table, where I had not been 
 a guest for nearly six months. I could not but recol- 
 lect the party which had gathered around it then ; 
 and remembered with a sigh how happy and free from 
 care I had been that night. Miss Menie made the 
 tea, Miss Jess spread the bread and butter, and Miss 
 Jean, being youngest, was privileged like me to sit 
 still, and do nothing. Each of them had her peculiar 
 department, and it was never interfered with, unless 
 illness happened. They had many good old-fashioned 
 rules those worthy spinsters, and one was to give pre- 
 cedence to age. They were great sticklers for the 
 privileges of primogeniture. One thing they all agreed 
 in doing this night, and this was, pressing nice things 
 upon me. They evidently did not think me yet be- 
 yond the bread and butter and sugar age, and coaxed 
 me to eat as if I were a child. But it was very plea- 
 sant to be so petted ; I only wished I could always 
 be so, even though at the cost of my dignity as a 
 woman. Kindness was become a very precious com- 
 modity in my estimation of late. 
 
 When Jenny had lifted away the tea-things, and 
 had put on the green cloth cover upon the table, and 
 placed every chair scrupulously in its usual position, 
 we again found ourselves in a circle by the fire. There 
 was a pause for a little time, and I saw the three 
 ladies look at one another with somewhat disturbed
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 317 
 
 countenances. It had not struck me before that they 
 were uneasy about any thing, though I thought Miss 
 Menie looked more absent than was her usual. Good 
 souls ! they need not have been troubled, if they could 
 but have read my mind. 
 
 At last, as I was pondering what could be the 
 matter that thus disquieted them, Miss Menie raised 
 her head and addressed me. 
 
 " There is a thing, my dear," she said, seriously, 
 " which we wish to inform you of before it can come 
 to you from any other quarter, — of course it will soon 
 become public. We waited till tea was over before 
 we would speak of it." She paused, and I sat in 
 silent expectation, not unmixed with apprehension, 
 at this mysterious opening. 
 
 " Of course, my dear," she continued, nervously 
 clearing her throat, " you know that a successor must 
 be appointed before long to your worthy father, and 
 we have heard to-day that a presentation has been 
 made by Sir Robert Crawford — a most unexpected 
 thing I am sure." 
 
 Here she again paused, and they all looked at me 
 to see how I bore it ; but I was quite composed — my 
 aunt's letter had prepared me. I was only anxious 
 to learn the name of the individual. Miss Menie took 
 courage from my composure, and went on. 
 
 u We were afraid that the mention of this so early, 
 my dear," she said, " would hurt your feelings : and 
 — and — but have you any idea, my dear, who Sir 
 Robert has given the parish to?"
 
 318 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 " To Mr Campbell, I have no doubt," I answered 
 quietly. 
 
 They all looked surprised, but relieved, when I had 
 uttered this. 
 
 " What makes you think it is William, Miss Rose, 
 dear?" inquired the second spinster. 
 
 " You must have heard it," said Jean. 
 
 " No, I did not hear of it," I said, " but I have 
 somehow been expecting it. Don't you remember, 
 dear Miss Menie (turning to her), what Mr Crawford 
 said the night we all met here, the last night I spent 
 here?" I added, with an involuntary sigh. " He 
 said he wished that he could give Mr Campbell a 
 presentation." 
 
 " So he did," said Jean, " I remember hearing 
 him, though I had forgotten that. But ye arena 
 vex't then that our William has got the parish, Miss 
 Rose?" 
 
 " Vexed ! oh, no, I am very glad. He is just the 
 person I would have liked to — to succeed my father. 
 I assure you the subject has cost me much anxiety ; 
 but I shall have no fear now for my poor old women. 
 Widow Wilson will be very happy, for she thought 
 highly of his preaching." 
 
 All the ladies looked pleased. 
 
 "lam sure," said Miss Menie, " that William will 
 be anxious to do his duty — he is like your good father 
 for that." But she seemed afraid, with true delicacy, 
 that the exhibition of their happiness might be pain- 
 ful to my feelings to witness already, and knowing
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 319 
 
 her sisters' tendency to enlarge upon such an event 
 with very little reflection, now that the necessary 
 communication had been made, she attempted, after 
 a few more remarks, to change the subject. But I 
 would not allow this — I inquired how the news had 
 reached them. 
 
 " It was in a letter of William's this morning we 
 first learned it," answered Miss Menie, u and I assure 
 you we could scarcely believe our ain eyesight at first. 
 But Mr Grainger was so polite as also to write us a 
 note by u daft Tarn," who brought them baith, but 
 we opened William's first of course. William feels 
 very properly. Though very grateful to Mr Crawford, 
 for it 's to him he owes it (by the bye you would hear 
 he is married), he says he must be perfectly sensible 
 that he is acceptable to the people before he will ac- 
 cept the presentation. Perhaps you would like to 
 hear what he says." 
 
 Very much, I answered, that is if 
 
 " Oh ! there is naething but what you may hear." 
 Miss Menie put on her spectacles, and dived into 
 her capacious pocket in search of the letter. She had 
 some difficulty in finding it. She at length drew it 
 forth from amidst a chaotic mass of various articles 
 with which her pocket was filled. She opened it, 
 glanced down the page for a moment, and then began 
 to read. The other ladies settled themselves anew in 
 their chairs as she did so, and looked as much inter- 
 ested as if they had never heard the letter before. 
 Miss Menie commenced : —
 
 320 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 " My dear Cousins, 
 
 " I am happy to answer your kind inquiries 
 regarding my mother, by informing you that -for the 
 last few days she has found herself easier, — * um — 
 urn.' My sisters — ' um ' — both well (William is a 
 very affectionate brother), not able to leave her at pre- 
 gen t ? — t um — um' — hope soon to do so. (Ay ! here 's 
 the bit about the presentation.) You will be sur- 
 prised to hear that I yesterday received a note from 
 my friend Crawford, in which, in very kind terms, he 
 informs me that his father has consented to his re- 
 quest that the presentation to Auchtermuir shall be 
 offered to me. I feel Mr Crawford's kindness very 
 sensibly, and have already written my acknowledg- 
 ments. As to the parish, — you know you have often 
 heard me say that a minister should never intrude 
 himself against the wishes of a people. If they acqui- 
 esce, I shall accept the presentation thankfully, and 
 all this I have fully explained to Mr Crawford. I 
 need not say how happy it will make me to be set- 
 tled so near to you — i um — um.' I feel however, from 
 the high character which the late Mr Douglas bore as 
 a parish minister, that a very difficult task may be 
 before me. I trust I may be enabled in some degree 
 to fill his place, if it does happen that the people give 
 me a call. You mention Miss Douglas in your letter. 
 How is she bearing up under this trial ? — I should 
 wish to be remembered to her, if it would not be in- 
 truding upon her at present. Does she remain at 
 Auchtermuir?"
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 321 
 
 u That is all, my dear, I need read to you," added 
 Miss Menie, folding the letter and replacing it in her 
 pocket : " the rest is principally about family matters, 
 though he again alludes to the presentation at the end. 
 He says there that he feels it a very solemn thing to 
 have the prospect of a charge of souls devolving upon 
 him, and that instead of being elated, he is humbled 
 by a sense of his deficiencies for the task, and trembles 
 at the responsibility. His mother, though, poor wo- 
 man, is very happy, he says. It will be doubtless a 
 comfort to her to see him settled before her death." 
 
 u I hope William will no have owre great scruples 
 of conscience," said Miss Jess. " I 'm sure the folk 
 couldna get a better. Besides, it would look like an 
 ill return for Mr Crawford's kindness." 
 
 " I think there is not much to fear," said Miss 
 Menie quietly ; " the people will likely be satisfied 
 with the presentation for mair reasons than one. But 
 I must say that I respect William for his scruples, 
 and I think Mr Crawford will do the same." 
 
 A word from Miss Menie generally settled all points 
 with her sisters. They were not however weary yet 
 of speaking about the presentation. But it would 
 have been amusing to any one else than me (for I was 
 too sad to be amused) to observe the mixture of sym- 
 pathy for my situation, which constantly acted as a 
 check to their garrulity, and the delight they mani- 
 festly felt at the good fortune of their cousin. I had 
 not, however, that pitiful selfish spirit which would 
 have taken offence at such demonstrations about my 
 VOL. I. X
 
 322 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 father's successor. It was a pleasant thing to have a 
 relation they so much esteemed as Mr Campbell 
 settled so near them. I felt I could sympathize with 
 their happiness, though it impressed more vividly the 
 change in my own prospects. I was truly glad to 
 know that my father's place would be filled by such 
 a man as Mr Campbell ; and I thought I could after- 
 wards have a melancholy satisfaction in knowing that 
 my old much-loved home was in his possession, rather 
 than in that of a total stranger. But still I could 
 not listen to them without a certain degree of pain. 
 Cowper's lines, with which I had lately become ac- 
 quainted, recurred forcibly to me : — 
 
 " Where once we dwelt, our name is heard no more." 
 
 I felt that I and mine were giving place to a new 
 generation. 
 
 I thought it a good opportunity, now that it was 
 almost settled who the future minister would be, to 
 speak to his cousins about my anxiety concerning 
 John. Miss Menie undertook the responsibility of 
 promising that he should not be dismissed. This was 
 one drop of comfort in my cup of sorrow. I knew 
 that if but retained, John's qualities would soon re- 
 commend themselves. 
 
 The conversation at last turned upon my affairs, 
 and after some consideration Miss Menie allowed, that 
 though she did not like the idea of a young girl trusted 
 to her own guidance on a long journey, and staying 
 all night at an obscure inn, she yet did not see, after 
 what my aunt had signified, how it could be avoided.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 323 
 
 She thought Mrs M'Whirter's plan about John a sen- 
 sible one. I was glad to have her approval, for 1 
 could not trust to my own judgment on such a point. 
 
 Nanny made her appearance at eight o'clock with 
 the lantern to accompany me home. The good spin- 
 sters took leave of me with much affection and some 
 tears, though none of us meant this for the last time 
 we were to see one another. 
 
 When I entered the manse, how dismal and deso- 
 late it seemed after the bright cheery room at Burn- 
 side ! My heart sank within me. I had no 
 one now to meet, or to talk about the past evening 
 to. My solitary footsteps roused a hollow echo 
 through the dismantled carpetless rooms as I went 
 along the lobby and up the staircase. All was ne- 
 glected now. The servants scarcely thought it neces- 
 sary to attend to a house which was so soon to be 
 deserted ; not that they were indifferent to my com- 
 fort, but they knew I was heedless of such things 
 now. I looked to the clock to know the hour as I 
 passed it at the landing-place of the stairs : I had 
 forgotten to wind it up at the proper time, and it was 
 standing still. Everything was in the same state, — 
 we were all standing still, lifeless, spiritless, — and had 
 been so for the last fortnight. I as well as the clock 
 was unwound, and had lost all motive for exertion. 
 
 Next day I wrote to my aunt, and informed her of 
 the satisfactory answers I had obtained to my in- 
 quiries. I mentioned that Mrs M'Whirter had pro- 
 mised to secure my bed in the inn and seat in the
 
 324 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 caravan, and that I now purposed to leave Auchter- 
 muir on the morning before the term, and would 
 travel to Hamilton in our own cart. I said nothing 
 complimentary about the prospect before me, for I 
 could not with sincerity. I dreaded the unknown 
 future. And indeed if my aunt had seen the scalding 
 tears which dropped upon the paper as I wrote, she 
 would have considered them anything but flattering 
 towards herself. 
 
 I had a parting visit from Mr Patterson this day, 
 a most affecting one it was to us both. Mr and Mrs 
 Purdie also drove over from Crossford to bid me fare- 
 well before I left the country. I had afterwards a 
 consultation with John, who, without the least oppo- 
 sition (it showed how changed he was), agreed to 
 drive me to Hamilton, and return with the cart and 
 horse in time for the sale. And I then went over 
 to the Craiglands, and told Mrs Johnstone about the 
 arrangements I had made, and of Mr Campbell's pre- 
 sentation, which was not yet publicly known. How 
 weary it all made me !
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 325 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 And many a lesson, passing strange, 
 
 That churchyard taught to me, 
 
 When wandering 'mong the low tombstones, 
 
 Or sitting silently : 
 
 All things must fade and pass away, 
 
 This frame to ruin fall ; 
 
 But there is One will never change, 
 
 Who watcheth over all. 
 
 That old churchyard, so sad to see, 
 
 Oh ! 't was a warning tale to me ! 
 
 The few days which yet remained to me here passed 
 rapidly away. There were so many things to do, and 
 so many people to see on each, that every night I laid 
 my aching head on my pillow with thankfulness that 
 the day was over. I almost wished the moment of 
 parting past ; it was more painful to be always looking 
 forward to it. I was wonderfully supported, however, 
 in mind, and seldom allowed my feelings to overpower 
 me. When recollections would crowd upon me, my 
 constant resource was employment ; and indeed I had 
 little leisure to sit down and think. It was better for 
 me. 
 
 All was now finally arranged. The sale was to 
 take place just two days after I left, and I had an-
 
 326 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 other visit from Mr Grainger in connexion with it. 
 In answer to my inquiries, he confirmed the fact of 
 the presentation, and added, that from all he could 
 gather, it was most acceptable to the parishioners, and 
 that the settlement would probably take place before - 
 long. This however was in answer to my questions. 
 All but the Misses Weir seemed to be scrupulous of 
 mentioning the subject before me. 
 
 At length the last day arrived. My little ward- 
 robe was packed. I had carefully attended to my 
 aunt's injunctions, and, except a few books and my 
 father's manuscripts, I took nothing with me but my 
 clothes. All my possessions were contained in two 
 small trunks. My father's clothes I had distributed 
 among the decent poor. His watch and my mother's 
 ring I placed, the former in my bosom suspended 
 round my neck by a ribbon, and the latter carefully 
 rolled up in paper in my pocket. I had no ornaments 
 to care for. 
 
 I paid a last visit to Burnside in the forenoon, and 
 was embraced and wept over by all the good spin- 
 sters. I tore myself away at last, and ran rather 
 than walked up the avenue crying bitterly. They 
 spoke of a visit in summer ; but I was now to cease to 
 be my own mistress, and I could not be beguiled with 
 such hopes. I walked rapidly on when I hadjpassed the 
 lodge, with my veil over my face to hide my tears from 
 any passer by, and only cast back one hurried fare- 
 well look at the old place, as I hastened along by the 
 fence which skirted it.
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 327 
 
 I had to bid farewell to another old familiar spot 
 associated with all my happy childish days, when I 
 ran down the stately mossy avenue every morning to 
 my lesson, as light and gay as a bird in the branches 
 above me. I reached the ancient gate of the Craig- 
 lands, and hurried down to the house. I had not re- 
 solution to look about me, and might have seemed to 
 a stranger, if I had encountered one, only careful to 
 pick my steps along the damp mossy earth, wet from 
 the dripping of the dreary November woods ; but 
 memory was busy within me, and was recalling many 
 past scenes in those very woods through which I now 
 walked. But they all seemed to have taken place 
 long ago. I had lived years as it were during the 
 last few months. Before then, it now appeared to 
 me that I had been but a frolicsome child. Now I 
 was a thoughtful anxious woman. 
 
 It was a melancholy walk at that time of the year, 
 independent of the gloom upon my spirits. The trees 
 stript of their leaves looked less dense ; one saw far- 
 ther into the recesses of the woods ; but where was 
 the golden sunshine streaming in showers through the 
 green clustering leaves, and awaking all things to 
 life and joy ? Where the joyous twittering of the birds 
 safe in their retired citadels ? or, 
 
 " All the thousand nameless sounds which make 
 Mysterious Nature's music ? " 
 
 The bare lofty trees, clothed with grey lichens, rose 
 on either hand like large skeletons from which flesh
 
 328 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 and muscle have fallen, and a deep silence reigned 
 through the woods. 
 
 I entered by the back-door of the house, and pass- 
 ing through the kitchen, which was empty, and where 
 a small pot was bubbling and simmering over the fire 
 with the three old people's dinners, for Bauldy and 
 Mysie always sat down at the same table with Mrs 
 Johnstone, I went up the few steps and along the 
 little passage which led to her room. I found her 
 seated there, in her old place by the fireside, reading 
 her Bible. Her face was paler than usual, and it had 
 a cast of care in it. She had not heard my step, 
 for she was growing deaf, and I stood and looked 
 at her for a few moments. She raised her head at 
 last, and observed me. She was not surprised, for 
 she expected me ; and she rose immediately and took 
 my hand and led me forward, seating me beside 
 herself. 
 
 " I have been reading that chapter of the Bible 
 this morning, Kose," she said solemnly, " where Isaac 
 sent his son Jacob away, and he little thought he 
 wasna to see him again for nigh twenty years. But 
 yet the Lord brought him back at last. Ye are 
 gaun awa to leave this place, but I canna but think 
 it will be His will to bring ye back again, even 
 though it is just to gladden my auld een. Sae take 
 heart o' grace, my dear ; God does not give us kind 
 affections to wither them for ever." 
 
 I kissed her venerable cheek, and wept. She wept 
 also ; and for a while we spoke not, but mingled our
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 329 
 
 tears together. At last she asked me if I had got 
 every thing packed, or if she could help me. I told 
 her I was ready. She said she would come over in 
 the morning ; but I begged her not to do so, as it 
 would unnerve me for the day to have to part with 
 her again ; and she promised not to think of it. We 
 sat silently for some time after this, for both our 
 hearts were too full for ordinary speech, and she 
 knew already all that I could tell her. 
 
 It was painful to prolong such an interview, and at 
 last I rose hastily and kissed her in silence. Her 
 hand trembled very much, but she did not speak ; 
 and I turned away my face to hide the tears which 
 rolled down it. " God bless you, my bairn!" she 
 said at last with a broken utterance ; " the blessings 
 of the covenant be upon you, and may the Lord in 
 his own good time send you peace." I kissed her 
 again, and hurried from the room. 
 
 For one brief moment I could not avoid running 
 up the back stairs to the library, the scene of so many 
 happy hours. I gave but a hurried glance round the 
 antique room, which was as still as it used to be 
 in old days (who would visit it now ?) and then I 
 hastened away. I reached home worn out and dis- 
 pirited. More of this, I thought, and I would die. 
 
 That night, the last night I was to spend in the 
 manse, arrived. It found me quite alone. I had bid 
 every friend farewell, and I had now nothing to do but 
 to wander through all the rooms, and then restlessly 
 hurry from each after I had entered it. With my
 
 330 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 cloak around me, I visited every nook of the garden, 
 and looked at every tree, as if I would carry away its 
 impression upon my heart. I do not think that I felt 
 my sorrows very acutely at those moments, for my 
 mind was nearly stupified by the fatigues and suf- 
 fering of the last few days, and seemed almost a 
 vacuum as regarded present emotion. My mood can 
 only be represented by the word restless. I had a 
 craving desire after constant change, which would 
 not allow me to sit still, or to think calmly. I was 
 in search of rest, — but could not find it. Every 
 room but my bedroom was now dismantled ; and 
 during the evening, when I did sit down, it was in 
 the midst of dusty furniture which was piled together in 
 both sitting-rooms. Most of the things from the upper 
 floor had been carried there. I took my tea off one of 
 my own travelling boxes instead of a table. I could 
 not bear to speak to the servants, and avoided them 
 as much as possible; they likewise kept purposely 
 away from me. 
 
 Sleep in such an excited state of the brain as I 
 have described was little to be expected ; but when 
 the evening got late, I withdrew, according to custom, 
 to my room. I remember sitting for an hour or more 
 in the window gazing up upon the wintry sky, un- 
 conscious of cold, with a kind of listless misery. At 
 last I went to bed. But sleep, when it did at length 
 visit me, which was not till I had given up seeking 
 it in despair, was broken and filled with dreams. 
 Now, I was sitting or walking with my father as I
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 331 
 
 used to do, and he spoke tenderly and cheerfully to 
 me; then the scene would suddenly change, and I 
 was watching by his sick-bed, or witnessing his 
 funeral procession, and my own sobs would waken me 
 up. I would then sit up in bed and look about me, 
 for I had left a rushlight burning in the chimney, and 
 would listen if all was still in the house, wearying for 
 the morning to break. I would afterwards lie down 
 again and endeavour to compose myself to rest, and 
 before long I would be dreaming as before, and then 
 starting awake again. Thus it was through the 
 whole course of the night. 
 
 I woke up at last, finally, just as the clock outside 
 my room - door struck six. I rose immediately and 
 trimmed my light. I lifted the blind and looked out 
 at the window. It was still quite dark, and the sky 
 was cloudy, but it did not rain. I saw a light twink- 
 ling in John's window, which was visible from mine. 
 He was astir. I hastily dressed myself. I felt 
 languid and feverish from my disturbed sleep, but 
 was relieved by bathing my throbbing temples with 
 abundance of cold water. As all my things were 
 quite ready for starting, there was no necessity for all 
 this haste, but there was one visit I wished to make 
 before I left, and I preferred to do it unobserved, and 
 therefore at an early hour. 
 
 It was just a little before seven when, with a shawl 
 wrapt round me, I stole noiselessly down the stairs, 
 and drawing back the bolt of the door, issued out into 
 the grey misty morning. I did not hear any move-
 
 332 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 ment in the kitchen, in a closet off which the two ser- 
 vants slept, as I passed near it, and supposed they were 
 not yet risen. I drew the door gently to after me for 
 fear of rousing them. It was still almost dark, though 
 the light was slowly breaking. The air felt damp 
 and raw, and I drew my shawl closer round my 
 bosom as I crossed the green into the shrubbery. I 
 knew that the churchyard gate was locked and 
 William had the key ; but it would be easy, I was 
 aware, to climb over the low wall which separated 
 the shrubbery from the burial-ground. I made my 
 way through the moist clinging bushes, and reached 
 the little ivied wall where the trees had not yet 
 allowed the dim morning light to penetrate. I 
 knew the localities so well, that even in the gloom I 
 was able to choose a part of the wall where a large 
 horizontal stone close by it enabled me to step easily 
 down on the churchyard side. This I accomplished. 
 But from that I had to descend into long rank grass, 
 wet and heavy with the morning mist. But I thought 
 little at present of what at another time would have 
 made me shudder. I stepped quickly over the graves : 
 most spectral - like I must have looked to any one 
 who might have chanced to see me in the uncertain 
 light wandering through the churchyard. My father 
 and mother's grave lay at the other side of the church, 
 and I had to make a circuit round the building to 
 reach it. A few minutes brought me there. A large 
 stone, supported at either end by rude pillars, covered 
 it. It had been removed before the funeral, but
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 333 
 
 was now restored to its old position, and I sat down 
 upon it. 
 
 It was a solemn moment. My parents slumbered 
 quietly there, and I, their only child, had come to 
 their lonely resting-place to bid it farewell before I 
 went forth to the world homeless and a stranger. 
 Here was the sole spot on earth to which I now had 
 a claim — here were my treasures buried ; but I was 
 to be separated from it henceforward. 
 
 How inscrutable are the workings of Providence ! 
 Here was I, a young, inexperienced, tenderly nur- 
 tured girl deprived of her only support, and about to 
 enter by herself upon the great and tempestuous 
 struggle of life ! Here was I sitting weeping and 
 solitary in the dim light by the grave which contained 
 both my parents ! Who could then see that good 
 was to come out of this evil ? Who could guess that 
 light was to spring from this darkness ? The Lord 
 has his own ways of leading his people and teaching 
 them to depend upon himself. He evidently desired 
 that I should lean upon his arm instead of an earthly 
 father's. 
 
 The sky became gradually clearer, and the trees 
 and other objects around began to assume a less 
 shapeless appearance, as I lingered there. I bent 
 down, as the light enabled me, and with falling tears 
 perused the words engraved on the stone. My 
 mother's epitaph I had long known by heart, but my 
 father's had been just executed. It was by the direc- 
 tion of his session. It ran thus : —
 
 334 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 SACRED TO THE MEMORY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 REVEREND JAMES DOUGLAS, 
 
 Who departed this life on the 15th of October 17 — , in the 
 56th year of his age, and the 30th of his ministry. 
 
 " For I know that ye all among whom I have gone preaching the king- 
 dom of God will see my face no more. Wherefore I take you to witness 
 this day that I am pure from the blood of all men." 
 
 They had made his farewell text to serve for his 
 epitaph. There could not have been a juster one, and 
 it was a warning to all those who had enjoyed his 
 ministry. Perhaps, I thought, when many years 
 have passed away, some idle wanderer who has heard 
 that sermon may be arrested by those words, and they 
 may produce fruit. God grant it. I loved the peo- 
 ple both for his sake and theirs. 
 
 Time was wearing fast away, however. The morn- 
 ing was becoming every moment lighter, and the 
 household would now be stirring. I might be missed. 
 I turned to go away more than once ; but again and 
 again I retraced my steps. I felt it probable that I 
 might never be here again. It was doubly painful to 
 depart with this conviction, feeling that even my dust 
 would never mingle with theirs. But I checked the 
 bitterness that was overshadowing my spirit by this 
 time. That Scripture — " Those that sleep in Jesus 
 the Lord will bring with him," suddenly came to my 
 mind. I had been mourning as one without hope. 
 What mattered the poor perishing body, if we were
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 335 
 
 all children of God through Christ Jesus ? Heavenly 
 Father! I ejaculated earnestly, do with me what thou 
 wilt : make me all that thou wouldst have me to be : 
 and, oh ! cure this fretful spirit, murmuring at thy 
 dispensations. Farewell, I concluded, looking at the 
 lonely grave, — farewell, dear father and mother ; but, 
 thank God, not for ever ! 
 
 I turned sorrowfully, but calmly, away, and re- 
 traced my steps through the churchyard. I returned 
 by the way I came, and re-entered the house. As I 
 passed the parlour-door, I saw Nanny spreading my 
 little breakfast on a table she had cleared. She was 
 crying bitterly while doing it. She saw me as I has- 
 tened through the passage, and perhaps suspected 
 what had taken me so early out of doors ; but she did 
 not speak. I hurried up to my own room, and shut 
 myself in for a time, nerving myself for the parting 
 moment. I was cold and shivering from the long 
 time I had lingered in the churchyard, and at last I 
 went down stairs and hastily swallowed a cup of tea. 
 
 The hour of departure was drawing near. With a 
 forced calmness I put on my travelling things, as if I 
 were but going on a short journey, and not for ever. 
 I tied my bonnet at the little mirror, and thought 
 vividly how strange it was that I would never do so 
 again. My room looked just as usual, as if I meant 
 to return to it again at the customary hour. The 
 chest of drawers stood in its old place, — no one could 
 tell that it was empty, — and the tossed down bed- 
 clothes seemed as if they would be again smoothed for
 
 336 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 occupation. But in that chamber, in which I had 
 slept eighteen years, I would never more rest myself. 
 My last act there was prayer. 
 
 I left it, and went into every room in succession. 
 They all looked altered from the confusion which 
 reigned in them. My father's room was the last I 
 visited, and I lingered in it : it and all the places he 
 had most frequented were sacred spots to me. I did all 
 this as if I were in a kind of dream ; but occasionally 
 a sharp pang, a consciousness that it was real, would 
 dart into my heart, and dispel the stupor. 
 
 At last the sound of wheels grating on the gravel 
 below, and immediately afterwards, as I was sitting 
 waiting in my father's room, a burst of loud crying from 
 the two servants, announced to me that my convey- 
 ance was at the door. I was eager to get away, that I 
 might be at rest. I drew my veil over my face, and, 
 with feet that trembled in spite of my endeavours, I 
 descended the stairs. The servants were in the lobby. 
 They were to leave in a few hours after me. I walked 
 steadily on. I paused to take the hand of each. 
 " Good-bye, Nanny — good-bye, Peggy," I managed 
 to say, though almost inarticulately. In another mo- 
 ment I was in the cart, — the curtain was drawn, and, 
 sinking back in the darkest corner, I broke into a fit 
 of sorrow. The cart moved away : I heard the gate 
 close behind us — and I was a wanderer. 
 
 THE END OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 Printed by Oliver & Boyd, 
 Tweeddale Court, High Street, Edinburgh.